Ta'veren
by Geralt
Summary: When Rand was 13, Lews started manifesting in the boy's dreams, passing on to him the knowledge of how to control his Ta'veren ability. Seven years later, Moiraine arrived to find Two Rivers a very different place from what it was supposed to be.
1. Prologue: A Dream

_Author's note_

_First of all, though this story will be rated as (T), there is every possibility the rating will be upped to (M) at a certain point. I want to point out for all of you Wheel of Time fans out there, that this story is a major Alternative Universe setting, and I do not intend on making it a simple "what if" setting. Therefore, a fair warning: if this story lives, it will be extremely different from what you might be accustomed to. _I also need to say that some of the main characters will feel somewhat off. The main character (Rand al'Thor) much more than others, but I hope that this prologue would shed some light into why is he (and all other characters as a result of it) so different than the Rand al'Thor we all know._I have this story pretty well envisioned in my mind, and I can tell for certain I have envisioned certain aspects of the plotline to go as far as the original books four or five. However, considering this is my first attempt at writing fan fiction, as well as the fact my daily obligations take a lot of me, I may not be able to update the story regularly. I also apologize if there are spelling and grammar mistakes, since I'm not a native English speaker, and I do not have a beta. So, take this as it is, and I hope you will enjoy.  
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_DISCLAIMER  
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_I do not own Wheel of Time, nor any of its characters.__ All rights go to the respectful copyright holders.  
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><p><em><strong>Prologue - A Dream<br>**_

It was a beautiful day of a late spring. The scents of an impending hot summer were just beginning to churn in the air, and Rand, Mat and Perrin were trekking their way along a seldom used pathway that led off toward the Mountains of Mist. It was one of their rare days off of work. The farms, the sheep, the barn… everything seem to need constant vigil and work, so this was a rarity – a blessing, even – and the three were not going to put it to waste. So, what would three thirteen-year-old boys do when they got a rare opportunity to be away from their jobs, from their parents and meddlesome sisters? Grab a few stakes, some bacon and sausages, garlic, salt, then trek their way somewhere far-off where no one can disturb them and make a barbeque in peace, of course. Now, if someone – say, Mat – had managed to 'find' his father's wine cellar unlocked and raid it… well, that's just another fortunate circumstance, now isn't it?

"There it is," Rand said as he pointed to an old, tall oak tree on top of a small hill. "There's plenty of dry wood in the surrounding groves, and a small pond down there."

"It's perfect!" Mat smiled, then turned to Rand. "How did you know of this place?"

"Well, my father brought me here last year," he said matter-of-factly.

"Why were you all the way up here?" the question came from the third member of their party, Perrin. Rand turned, and could see confusion on his friend's face.

"I mean," Perrin continued, "you don't have any fields anywhere near here; nobody does. And nobody lives here, either."

Rand made a big grin and spoke with a victorious tone. "He took me to see the _ruins_!"

As if attracted by some magnet, both Mat and Perrin turned and tuned in to what Rand had to say.

"There are no ruins here." They both said in unison, but their faces betrayed all the interest a thirteen-year-old boys would show in their situation.

"Why would there be ruins in Two Rivers?" Perrin said dismissively, "Two Rivers has been like it is now since… since ever!"

"There _are_ ruins," Rand said sternly, "you can see them from the top of the hill. Just you wait and see!"

"Well, I for one want to see them. Last one to the top is a rotten egg!" Mat said, and ran toward the hill where the promise of adventure waited him. Rand and Perrin gave chase, and after a few minutes the three were sprawled across the top of the hill, struggling to catch their breath.

"Pe… Perrin," Mat gasped, as he rose to his feet, "is… a… rotten egg!" and he laughed hoarsely as he avoided a fist directed at his flank.

"So, where is this supposed ruin?" Mat asked eagerly as he caught his breath.

Rand scanned the surrounding area in the direction of the Mountains. And far off where the mists spilled like white foam from between two peeks, a glow reflecting from the white surface was greeting him back.

"There," he said.

"_What_?" Mat whined in disappointment, "but I thought it was near! We would have to walk for the better part of the day to get all the way _there_."

"Well, I never said me and my dad went on foot! We were on horseback, and this was just a stop-by."

"Those don't look like ruins to me," Perrin said after a moment. "For all I know, those could be just white rock outcroppings."

"Yes, they are ruins," Rand mutinied, "I was there and I saw them!"

"So you say!" Perrin smirked.

"No, no, I believe him," Mat broke in. "Look how some of the stones seem to be arrayed. It is too regular, and some do look like squares!"

That seemed enough to make Perrin wonder. Of the three, he was the most reserved one. Where Mat was wild one, Perrin was the quiet one. Where Mat was the person to touch the hot coals just to see what would happen, Perrin was the one to think on the outcome first. And Rand? He was lucky if he managed to strike a balance between the two. In the end, it usually came down to him to decide the course of action – for him to be some sort of unintended leader – and it was a thing he was never eager to do. Thank the Light Perrin was convinced quickly enough this time around; Light knew his stubbornness was legendary.

"I suppose those _could_ be ruins of some sort," he said at last.

"Atta boy," Mat nudged him on the shoulder. "We'll make an adventurer out of you, yet!"

He flopped down on the floor and both Rand and Perrin followed suit.

"Ah, imagine what it would be like to really go there and find something," Mat said with awe, then a glint appeared in his eye. "Imagine if there was ancient gold."

"Aww, come on, Mat," Rand whined, "Is that all you ever think about?"

"What else is there to think, other than gold?" he said, then corrected himself. "Well, I suppose there might be some amazing ancient weapons over there."

Rand laughed out loud. "What kind of weapons might you be referring to? Gigantic crossbows maybe? Like the ones in the stories, whose bolts could destroy an entire house? Come on, Mat. Those are just stories."

"No," Mat spoke with a hint of annoyance directed at his friend, "I was referring to the weapons of the Age of Legends. Such weapons must have been much more powerful than simple sword and bow we use today, and _that_ over there could very well be a city from back then."

Rand sighed. "The best weapon of the Age of Legends _was_ the sword," he said with exasperation, "A blademaster's sword, to be exact! It is known that those swords are the only thing that survived from the Age of Legends, because they were wrought with the One Power… and not even that is possible anymore since there are no more male One Power channelers. And if that is the best weapon, then it is reasonable to assume they used swords in the Age of Legends, as well. It is just common sense!"

He was interrupted by Mat's yell. "Shut uuuup! One Nynaeve in the village is enough. All I need is for you to start acting up like her. I thought we came here to run _away_ from her and all those other people that would tell us that we 'have no sense'. Light! I don't care if it makes sense or not; I _want_ to think of senseless things, because they are much more interesting than the boring everyday."

Rand was a bit taken aback. Of course, that _was_ why they came here. Why was he acting like that, anyway?

"You're right, Mat," he said at last, "I'm sorry. Let's get the fire started and make some barbeque, shall we? And then, we will imagine of all the senseless things the Age of Legends could have held."

"Now you're talking!" Mat nodded and stood up.

"Very well, then," Rand started, "I'll go down to the pond to get water. Perrin, you grab the axe and bring us some firewood…"

"I don't think so," Perrin interrupted him.

"What? Why?" Rand frowned.

"Look there."

Rand looked in the direction where Perrin had pointed. The foamy fog that had been rolling down between the many mountain peaks had transformed into something more – a massive cloud formation. It was rising high – twice as high as the mountains were – forming a like of a gigantic white wall. But the lower recesses of the cloud were not white; and if the grim, lightning-streaked darkness was any sign, that was to become one heck of a storm.

"Aw, blood and bloody ashes!" Mat shouted. "This was to be my free day. _Free_ day! Now I'll have to spend it indoors and probably be soaked to my skin!"

Perrin cleared his throat. "I think we better hurry back home!" he said, and Rand had to agree. His farm was the closest to their current location, and as things were, there just might be enough time for them to reach it before the storm caught them. Maybe.

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><p>'Just might' turned out not to be true. They were almost a mile away from Rand's house when the storm hit them with everything it had. It was no hail-storm, thank the Light, but the spray of wind and rain was so powerful that they were soaking wet and shivering within mere seconds. Had it been a milder storm, they would have probably resigned to walk it off despite being wet – no sense in running if you're already soaked – but the fervor with which lightnings were streaking through the sky and pounding the earth and trees all around them was enough to instill utter terror into any grown man, let alone boys. So they ran as if their life depended on it.<p>

But where Mat and Perrin had only fear to rely on, Rand had something else. It was a simple mind trick, really; something his father had taught him only recently, and it was his father's voice that boomed in his mind then: Imagine a single flame in the center of your being. A candle flame. Feed your emotions into it, your fears, your anger, until the flame grows and expands unto everything. And when the flame has devoured all of it, it in itself will disappear, leaving the Void with it. Hold onto that Void, and the pain, fear, anger will remain outside, thus making you capable of handling any situation that comes your way.

Yeah, right. Reaching into the Void was easy – it took him but a fraction of a second, actually – but it was holding onto the Void that was hard, and almost impossible for a thirteen year-old boy. The Void quivered and vibrated severely, but nonetheless, it was enough for him to regain some semblance of composure.

"We're almost there!" Rand yelled over the sound of the storm. "Look, there's the Quarry Road up ahead!"

As they ran, they saw a figure running toward them, and Rand felt relief wash over the outer boundaries of the Void, but never touching him inside. There were few people this far along the Quarry Road that made their home here. Fewer still that knew there would be someone coming from this direction.

"Look, that must be my father!" Rand yelled, his voice driven by the unyielding, emotionless purpose the Void gave him.

But then, a bright flash out of nowhere blinded his sight. For a fleeting moment, there was nothing. For all the rage of the storm, suddenly there was a dead silence. The breath he was about to take was forcefully expelled out of his lungs; yet there was no pain. The ground was not under his feet, but it was also nowhere else to be found. And something was coursing through his body, forming a powerful tingling sensation throughout his muscles, his face, his mind. And then his heart started beating anew, forcing the bile, the pressure, the pain and pulsing shock all throughout his body. He could have sworn he felt vomit bursting out of his mouth.

_What in Light's name is happening to me_? - was his last thought as the numb blackness took over his body.

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><p>Serenity. That was the only way Rand al'Thor could describe his current state of mind. Or was he simply dreaming? He couldn't say. He knew was standing on top of a great hill overlooking humongous city on the shore of a great blue sea, which was just starting to gain its burning sunset-orange hue. He had no idea how he knew that he was looking at the sea – he had never seen one in his entire life – but he knew it was the sea none the less, as if it was some old and nearly forgotten memory. And the city! Dear Creator, it was the biggest thing he had ever seen, and the towering buildings were of such height that he could not imagine how it could possibly be built. Yes, stories spoke of the famous Topless towers of city Cairhien, and of an even greater height Tar Valon's White Tower possessed, but something – some sort if dismissive feeling – deep inside was telling him that neither were nowhere near the height of the ones he was looking at right now. And what's more, though he knew what he was seeing as true, he was not dazed by the sight in the least bit. How could it not be a dream, then?<p>

His revelry was interrupted by deep voice, coming from behind him: "Magnificent, isn't it?"

Startled, Rand jerked and for a moment there, he could have sworn his clothes had disappeared, then reappeared. He turned, and saw a person that called out to him sitting on the stone outcropping. It was a man; not old, but not young, either. And he was looking back at Rand with a piercing gaze that held that glint of absolute knowledge in it. It made the old village Wisdom pale in comparison. From where he was sitting, the man had his right leg propped on an adjacent stone, and he rested his right hand on his knee. He held something between the forefinger and middle finger of that hand; a smoldering twig. No, it was not a twig, Rand could smell tabac. It was a… cigarette. _How did I know that?_

The man put a cigarette between his lips and inhaled with seeming pleasure. A sudden craving surged through Rand's being, as if an expectation of something unknown – a desire for something long lost and forgotten – came over him all at once. As if guided by an invisible force, his hand mimicked the motion of lifting the cigarette to his mouth; he could almost feel the phantom sensation of a cigarette between his lips, its end on the tip of his tongue. The man never turned his gaze, as if studying him and scanning his very soul.

Anxiety washed over him, and the Void – which had held until that very moment – trembled violently, then caved in, disappearing completely. And without that inner protective barrier, Rand felt the full blow of the anxiety pumping through his heart. He licked his lips nervously, his breathing heating up.

"Where am I?" he demanded, "What have you done to me? And who are you for that matter?"

The man exhaled the smoke like he had all the time in the world. "You are in the World of Dreams called _Tel'aran'rhiod_, I have brought you here, and I am you. Does that answer your questions?" the man spoke slowly. His voice had an unusual calming quality about it. It was deep, powerful and reverberating, but that very depth was striking into Rand's chest.

The boy swallowed hard. "You're me? That's impossible!" he said incredulously. As if it always happens when someone is distressed, Rand tried dismissing the idea with a snorting laugh. For one the man looked nothing like him; Rand was just a thirteen year-old boy while this man was more like thirty. Rand's hair was short and red, while this man had long, dark hair tied at the back of his head, with some loose strands of hair hanging down his forehead. Rand had grey-blue eyes, while this man had brown eyes; a very knowing eyes. And besides, his face was completely different.

"Oh, really?" The man seemed quite amused. "How can you be sure it's impossible? This is a dream, isn't it? Many things are strange in dreams."

"Well… it…" Rand fumbled uncertainly, shifting his feat and looking around as if trying to find support, "Well, it's just foolish! Anybody with some sense would think it's ludicrous."

A genuine, heartfelt laughter exploded from the man's chest. His face reminded Rand of how his father looked when he was pleasantly surprised – a genuine smile that made anyone abandon any kind of malicious thoughts – and strangely enough, the man did not seem threatening at all.

"Don't dare reciting the words you heard from that old village Wisdom, or Nynaeve, kid," the man said after he managed to take hold of his laughter, "I want you to use your own brain and your own words. Not something they put in you."

Rand licked his lips again. He felt very thirsty.

"Feeling thirsty?" the man asked as if he was reading his thoughts. When Rand gave him a reluctant nod, the man took another smoke of the cigarette, and looked at the boy as if considering something. "No, you're not," he said at last, "Just convince yourself that you're not."

Rand looked at him as if the man was nuts. "Trust me," the man said while motioning with his hand, "Just imagine: you've drank water all day long. Bucket, after bucket, after bucket…"

And just like that, Rand suddenly felt his thirst was quenched. What's more, he felt as if he had drunk buckets of water the entire day. He smacked his lips with an astounded look.

"How did you do that?" He asked incredulously.

The man inhaled the smoke of his cigarette again, still not loosing eye contact that had Rand pinned like a piece of wall tapestry; but the feeling was not threatening in the least. More like… he felt drawn in.

"Well, this _is_ a dream," the man said, "And it was you who did it. You can do whatever you want in a dream, as long as you think on it hard."

Rand quirked his lips in a smile. This man gave the impression of knowing many things. And he did seem pleasant enough. His anxiety washed away, Rand suddenly found himself being inquisitive. "What is your name?" he asked. The man stood up, throwing his cigarette on the ground and putting it out with the sole of his boot. He stretched out a bit, and said:

"My name is Lews Therin Telamon."

At the mention of those words, Rand felt as if his very soul drained away, only to be refilled with utter terror that struck against his chest unbound. And what followed was raising panic. Needless to say, the sleeping mind has quirky ways of projecting one's feelings inside dreams, and after Lews spoke his words, Rand found himself pounding against a seemingly locked door that appeared out of nowhere, and yanking the doorknob in a vain attempt to escape. _The Dragon_. His face was twisted in utter fear. _No, the Dragon is a male channeler, he broke the world._ Everybody knew that only female channelers could touch the True Source of the One Power; any man that dared touch the Source would eventually turn mad, and kill and destroy everything in his path with the One Power; unless Aes Sedai were to find and gentle him first. But that didn't matter. Rand had to get away, immediately! But where to hide? The Dragon was the most powerful male channeler that ever lived. He could destroy everything with a thought. The very thought of protective, calming Void was far from his mind.

Lews, in turn, was completely dumbfounded. He blinked as he watched Rand try to open a door that actually was just that – a single door in the middle of the field! No walls, no room, just door. Was it even possible for the boy to be so freaked out, that not only his own frightened mind projected a door in front of him, but he had tunnel vision and saw nothing as well? Then an old thought came to him: _Fear rules men._ And he cursed. This might prove difficult.

"Just _what_ do you think you are doing?" Lews asked, partly because he was quite confused, and in part of being actually concerned.

Rand turned and glued his back against the door. When the boy did not answer, Lews spoke again. "Are you aware you have projected a door? It's just a door, for Creator's sake."

Only after Rand turned did he realize what he had actually done. The door disappeared a moment later, making Rand turn toward Lews and whimper.

"Please don't kill me," he said, "Don't break the world with me in it."

The man no longer gave him that amused look. He towered over him with an impatient frown. A powerful, commanding voice ripped out of his throat.

"Settle down, you! And sit down."

Rand immediately dropped his ass on the ground. Somehow he settled instantly, and all sense of fear left him. The man was looking at him from up above. He bent down and held Rand's chin with his hand, turning the boy's head sideways. "Aw, crap," he muttered, "I'm an Aiel."

Lews then straightened and released a deep breath. "This must be some kind of cosmic joke." He took a few steps around, then turned to Rand, letting out a weary sigh.

"Don't worry, kid," he said, this time his voice bearing concern, "I'm not going to do anything to you. Remember what I said? I am _you_. It would be foolish to hurt or kill myself… again. Trust me, I've been there. Besides, this is a dream, remember that! I'm surprised, though, that you can't hold your concentration at all. That will have to be improved."

It was perhaps because of those words that Rand managed to calm down a bit. "But," he swallowed, "How can you be me? I'm me. It doesn't make any sense."

"Sure it does. Isn't faith in the rebirth of one's soul the paramount of all beliefs?" Lews asked. "Don't you believe in your rebirth?"

"Well… yeah, but…" Rand fumbled for words.

"Don't tell me you believe one is reborn with the same face?" Lews chuckled, "Or the same gender for that matter?"

Rand's face couldn't have been more surprised. Lews gave out another heartfelt laughter. Rand seemed to consider something.

"But… if you're Lews Therin, the Dragon," he frowned, "And you are me at the same time – that is, your soul is reborn into me – then that means…"

"Yup," Lews gave him a solemn nod, "You are the Dragon as well. Or should I say Dragon Reborn?"

Rand scrambled on all fours away from Lews, pushing away with his legs and clawing at the dewy grass with his fingers. He finally managed to get on his feet and then he ran downhill as fast as his legs could carry him. And it was fast indeed.

Lews found himself standing on top of the hill, looking after the boy that ran from him as if from the Shay'tan himself. Alone. With wind baring silent testament to the situation. He took a deep, slow breath and let it out in a string of small puffs. He seemed to contemplate something for a moment.

"I suppose it could have been worse," he said at last, as he watched Rand pass midpoint of the slope, "I could have manifested after he started channeling… then we would both be nuts. This way, he's just plain stupid, and _I'm_ nuts for trying."

Rand ran as if the earth was churning beneath his feet. It seemed as if everything flew past him much faster than it normally should, and somehow it seemed that he was doing it. But it did not matter. He had to get away at any cost. He didn't want to be the man that could channel. If he did, that would mean he would go mad because of it, and break the world as the result; unless female channelers, Aes Sedai, would find him and gentle him so he would not break anything, that is. But all stories told by traveling gleemen were the same in that one aspect: gentled men were but a husk, and did not live long. Whichever the faith awaited him was not good if he were to truly become the Dragon Reborn. So he had to get away as fast and as far as possible.

He reached the bottom quickly, jumping over some shrubs and scrambling up the second hill without a stop. No stopping. He had to get away from the Dragon. He reached the top. And then, a vicious slap landed across the side of his face, which sent him tumbling across the ground.

Rand looked up and to his horror found Lews standing in front of him with a frown and lips slightly twisted with distaste. _How could he reach me so fast?_ Rand could sense burning fury beaming from those eyes, even though the man's face was almost completely calm.

"Idiot!" Lews spat, "Are you so stupid to think you can run away from _yourself_? It's as if you're trying to jump out of your own skin. Impossible! For all your talk of sense, you sure as hell lack some.

Rand's eyes were cast down, while his body trembled. Lews saw that the boy was obviously terrified, but there was something more; Rand seemed to be angry with himself, as well. Could it be that he was experiencing a bleed effect from Lews' personality already? _Well, we _are_ one and the same_. Lews let out a long huff while he considered things.

"Do you even understand what it means to be Dragon Reborn?" he asked with a bit more calm, but the punishing edge remained.

Rand felt tears running down his cheeks. "I do. That means I will begin to channel and break the world." his voice then became heated as he looked pleadingly to Lews, "But I don't want to start channeling. I don't want to go mad and break the world. I don't want to!"

"And you don't have to!" Lews cut in calmly, but firmly, and Rand went silent. "You don't have to do _any_ of those things," Lews' deep voice regained that calming quality as he slowly circled Rand, again looking straight into his eyes with that piercing gaze. And just like before, Rand could not separate from it; it just dragged him in.

"Understand a few things first, kid," Lews said, "You don't have to channel at all; Dragon is not reborn because he can channel – although it is often given as a perk – and as a result he does not have to go mad at all. But whether he will "break" the world or not is entirely up to him."

Rand was still breathing hard as the anxiety was washing over him, but bit-by-bit he begun to calm down. Lews stopped circling, and sat on the stone next to him. Rand wondered where that stone came from, since it was not there a minute ago. _Oh, right, this is a dream._ Still, what Lews was telling him was not the way of things according to what he knew.

"But, all stories say that –"

"The stories," Lews cut in, "Are always embellished, and have traveled across so many tongues that along the way they lose their true meaning. Same with prophecies; they are so vague that no one can safely say what they mean, and as a result people invent things to suit them."

"But…" Rand trailed off as he was searching for words, "How am I supposed to defeat the… the Dark One if I don't channel?"

Lews took a deep breath as he looked over toward the majestic metropolis – a city this medieval-like world Rand lived in could never dream of building – and the golden sun-bathed bay seemed just a bit more sparkly and colorful. Things were turning for the better. It appeared the boy was beginning to deal with some facts.

"Have you ever heard of the term 'Ta'veren'?" he said out loud.

Rand frowned. "It sounds familiar."

"How about 'The Lace of Ages', or 'The Pattern'?" Lews insisted.

"Yes," Rand nodded, "I know those. The Creator made the Wheel of Time. The Wheel turns and weaves a Pattern of an Age – which defines everything that happens in this world – and then it turns into the lace of Ages."

Lews nodded, and motioned Rand to another stone outcropping that appeared next to him. Rand stood up and slowly stepped toward it as he kept a watchful eye on Lews. As he sat down, and made himself comfortable – as much as one could be next to the Dragon, anyway – Lews leaned forward and stared motionless at him.

"What if I tell you that there is no Wheel of Time?" He said, "Not the way you think of it, anyway."

Rand suddenly found himself listening intently. "But there must be," he said, "What would weave the Pattern if there was no Wheel?"

"The Creator himself." Lews spread his arms in a very matter-of-factly way. When Rand gave him a flabbergasted look, Lews laughed. "I see this is a bit too much for you. My mistake. I must make you understand some things first."

He stood up, looked around, then to Rand. "Kid, what happens when rain falls?" he asked. "Just answer it, it's not a trick, I assure you."

"Well," Rand was a bit confused with all this, "Plants grow."

"Yes, but it's because of the soaked soil, right?"

"Right." Rand shrugged wondering what is this all about.

"Well, where does that water go to?" Lews smiled.

Rand opened his mouth, but could not answer. "I… don't know," he said, then looked expectantly to Lews, as if he knew he would get an answer anyway.

"It evaporates back into the air, then turns to clouds, and _then_ it falls as rain again." Lews finished with a smile.

Rand blinked. Yes, it all made sense to him, now. He looked down to his hand that moved on its own, pointing with the forefinger and making a circular motion.

"So it's like a circle?" Lews asked. When Rand gave him a nod, he said, "Well, there's your wheel."

Rand frowned in contemplation. Sure, it was simple enough: a wheel is circular, so it could be said that if something goes around it's like a wheel.

"Are you saying that the Wheel of Time was once called the Circle of Time?" he asked.

Lews shook his head. "The Circle of _Life_, kid. Picture this: a stag eats grass. Then a wolf eats the stag. When the wolf dies, he rots and turns into ground. Then new plants grow from that ground so they could be eaten by new stag; the Circle. Same with rain, just as it is with everything else, even rebirth of one's soul. Everything is one great Circle of Life, not time. Time does not matter, _Life matters_. And that Circle is not the one that makes the pattern, but the other way around."

Rand was looking at Lews as if he was telling him some new revelation. And he wanted more. "So you're saying everybody is wrong? How can that be?"

"It is because people forget, kid."

Rand leaned closer. He was no longer afraid. Curiosity now bored into his skull like a maggot, always wanting more. Lews smiled. The whole point was for him to pass the knowledge to the boy, but he had little time. The very fact that he was manifesting like this in the boy's mind meant the time had come, and that the forces of Shadow were moving again. The process _had_ to be accelerated, so he decided on a bit of a gamble. He focused his being onto Rand, as if feeling his wave length, and trying to synchronize his being with him. And the boy's eyes changed. His pupils had dilated, like one was in a trance, but it was more; his eyes were new, as if a new depth to them was revealed. Yes, he was ready. Thus, Lews began a narrative.

"It is said the Wheel of Time turns – a symbol of the passing of time.

"Turns – as if it will never stop.

"Turns – as if what once was will come again.

"Symbols, really; all of them. Time indeed passes, but the things that once were will never come again. It is folly to believe in such things. What _can_ happen, though, is a repeated mistake. And a mistake will _always_ be repeated if the memory of it previously happening fades away – if the _knowledge_ fades away. That is the thing that can be called the Wheel of Time. The symbols then tend to take on a literal form with the fading of the knowledge. That is how simple people – much like the ones of Two Rivers – in times of distress try to remember the important things. And so, the important things such as the Great Circle of Life became the Wheel of Time, and things like Quantum Weave of Spatial and Temporal Dimensional Propagation became known as the Pattern or the Lace of Ages. I know you don't understand many of these words, kid, but don't worry; I'll explain everything over time. But back to the point, as the time passed, as memories faded to legend, legend to myth and so on, the two became closely related in the minds of men, until finally, The Wheel of Time became the one to weave the Lace of Ages, and thus create the Pattern of an age.

"Numerous myths followed in the footsteps of forgetfulness – stories that depicted the end of the world that happened, that will happen or that will never happen again. It is because people have always lived in hopes that the Age will come in which the word "war" will not have meaning. But that age will never come. The Creator has made sure of that. You see, what is the point of life if everything is provided? That is not life at all. The struggle and the desire to live is what defines humans, and life burns the strongest if there is a threat of death to smother it. You know such moments, kid, like when you faced a rabid badger and killed it. You stood and fought, while others might flee, and get themselves hurt as the result. The victorious sensation your ordeal left was beyond rewarding.

"But the majority of mankind just wants to live their lives without troubles, in piece and quiet. They do not seek higher knowledge, and by doing so they discard what truly makes them human. People such as these quickly yield. They tend to run away quickly instead of fighting, justifying their choice by saying they would prefer to live than to die. But even if they were to keep living for another hundred years even, their lives would still remain short as if they have never lived at all.

"There is another type of men and women, though; those that know life is not measured by the breaths they take, but by the moments that take their breath away. People like these have never been selfish; they always had companions and wanted to prove to the simple people that life is more than just counting years. The strongest of these were called many names throughout the history: heroes, messiah, even the unholy ones. All of them had the power within to move people, rally them and lead them to everlasting glory, but only few had the gift of utmost power.

"Of all the names only one remained, and even that name had its meaning forgotten as memories faded – Ta'veren. The meaning was "hub of the web"; hub of the web of Ages. It was later believed that when the Wheel of Time went astray while spinning of the Age Lace, it would spin out and use individuals called Ta'veren for correcting itself. It was believed that, since the Wheel used these individuals, they would be strictly controlled by it, have little decision of their own and that they have no more control over their fate than a candle wick has over the flame.

"How arrogant of them to think the Creator ever had any intention of forcing such limitation on any mortal. Besides, Ta'veren was previously known under a different name – _Ta'veren yahat_, "the controller of the web's hub"; Ta'veren had always existed, but it would take the _yahat_ to take the reins of its threads."

As Lews drew to a close, he turned to look at Rand. The boy was so wide-eyed that it seemed he was gulping the world with them. In a sense, he was; the synchronization was more than successful, and left good groundwork for future lessons. _Careful, though_. It was not Rand who needed to synchronize with Lews, but the other way around, or everything would be lost. The boy then tried to speak, but the exchange must have left him with a dry throat. He tried licking his lips, but Lews lift a finger.

"A-a! Think of the buckets of water." He said.

Rand blinked, and a moment later he not only felt his thirst was quenched, but he gurgled out a mouthful of water. Lews laughed his ass off. After a moment of spitting and coughing, Rand had managed to compose himself.

"Why did you tell me all this?" he asked after he wiped the last drops of water from his lips.

Lews sat back down on the stone, and took out a small silver box engraved with gold from the inner pocket of his jacket. "A number of reasons," he said as he opened the box – a cigarette case, as it turned out – and took one of the dark brown cigarettes out. A cigarette lighter appeared in his hands and he deftly lighted the cigarette, savoring the sweet cherry aroma. Rand couldn't explain how he knew every item, or what Lews felt, but he felt clearly when the pleasant tabac smoke filled Lews' lungs, as if they were his own.

"The first reason I brought up Ta'veren is because you're a _Ta'veren yahat_, kid; a controller of the hub of the Pattern. That will be your main weapon against the Dark One. You need to learn to control it. I could not achieve the full use of it because I was too old when I realized what I was, but you are a different story; you are still young, and we can shape it much better. It requires extreme willpower, though, and you will never develop any without backbone." He then inhaled another smoke, looking far into the distance. "And you will develop no backbone in that backward village of yours."

"Hey!" Rand frowned angrily, "Don't talk of Emond's Field like that."

"Nice attitude, but spunk alone will get you killed sooner than not," Lews kept on while motioning with his cigarette, "Your backbone at the moment is nothing but rigid stubbornness brought on by the environment, and backbone must not be rigid, but flexible and supported with powerful muscles to boot. It's the truth what I say about Emond's Field holding you down, kid, and you know it. You can't continue as you have before, and that's also the reason I told you all that. You must learn how to rise above petty stuff. Sure, no one is stopping you from loving and aiding your village, and you should – love is all you need, as they say – but you must not let the environment control you."

Rand seemed to be both shocked and scared, but there was a sense of understanding coming from him, as the words settled in with hard truth. Lews let him be for a few moments, carefully studying him.

"I don't want to go against my mother and father," he said.

"And you shouldn't," the man said, "But you don't have to, either. Not letting the environment control you is not to stubbornly defy them, but to discern when they are right, and when they are wrong. If you were to keep the kind of attitude you have now, you would be nothing but a mule on a leash. Do you have _any_ idea how skillfully an Aes Sedai could wrap you up with her little finger?" He took another smoke off the cigarette. "I purely doubt that Aes Sedai of today are nearly as powerful, smart or enlightened as the ancient Aes Sedai of my time were – which were both men and women back then – but I'm pretty sure they would be able to lead you by the nose as easily as a baby boy. To them you _are_ one, trust me on that. Aes Sedai can live for hundreds of years. And who do you think is smarter: a two-hundred year old woman that has seen her share of tribulations, or a young country oaf? You're going to bec… no, you _are_ the Dragon Reborn. You can not allow that to happen."

"But… then…" Rand was stuttering, and was giving off a slight moan. "How am I supposed to fight them?" he asked almost pleadingly.

"I lived for four hundred years, kid," Lews said with a hint of annoyance, "I pack a trick or two up my sleeve. Not only that, but I have extensive knowledge of the basic "how to"; including the memories of what you people call the Age of Legends. That's yet another reason why I'm here. Having the drive, the resolution and backbone for overpowering the cruel games of this world is not enough. It would be very, very bad to have the Dark One win because you did not know how to do some things; you can not change the world with loud words. You need to strike so hard that the back of your enemies gets utterly crushed."

"But that's just –" Rand began, but was quickly cut off by Lews.

"Evil?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, making Rand flinch, "Sure it is. But this world can not function on innocent goodness. Not yet, that is. Sure, you must give an open hand – you must strive to lure them in with good stuff – but your other hand must be hidden behind your back so you can smack them with a fist if they decide to betray your trust. That is the other thing you must know, kid: how to subdue the world without doing it in a completely evil way. Because, let's face it, 'subduing' is just another form of evil."

Lews took in another breath of cigarette smoke, making an effective momentary pause. "The third reason I told you all of this is because you can't do it alone. It must be passed on to two other individuals, who also happen to be _Ta'veren yahat_."

Rand's eyes shot up. "Mat and Perrin?" he breathed. Lews gave a quirk of a smile in response.

"Not yet, though," the man said, "Mat is a freaking champion blabber-mouth of the Age, while Perrin seems so much cautious to speak out of turn that he fails to speak when he needs to. We need to remedy that. I have an idea, though. Next time you and I meet, we will drag Mat and Perrin with us. It is possible; I'll do all the work, so relax."

"I thought this is my dream." Rand stated.

"Yours," Lews nodded in affirmation, "But this particular place is not any ordinary dream, but the Dream _World._ It is called _Tel'aran'rhiod_. Think of it as another world which is a copy of the real world. It is somewhere beyond it, untouchable save but through a dream, but it is there. Anyone can enter it – in fact, many people do so during their dream time – but few can do it on purpose. I'll tell you all about it in due time; I'll actually teach you everything I know over time. That's the whole point." His eyes started glinting as he gave Rand a mysterious smile. "Just think about it: wonders of the Age of Legends."

Suddenly, Rand heard a thundering sound as if a thundering gale arose. A humongous, arrow-shaped thing with wings flew over their heads and toward the city. It seemed to be made of metal, and Rand could see fire streaming from its rear. He remembered the thing like a dream of a dream, and looked at Lews in wonder.

"A sho-wing." Lews announced, "It was used during the Age of Legends as a means of transportation. To put it simply, it was a flying machine that carried people in it."

"A sho-wing." Rand repeated breathlessly.

Lews inhaled the final smoke from the cigarette, then put it on with his boot. "I'm afraid you won't be remembering many of those," he said, "Not yet, anyway; there are other things I must teach you. Much more important things."

Rand was silent for a while after that. Lews snapped his fingers in front of his face. "Hey, kid, is everything alright?"

Rand looked up at him, and made a startling question. "Lews, what happened in the end of Age of Legends? How was the Dark One released? And why did the men go crazy?"

Lews made a grim face as he looked into the distance. Rand quickly started apologizing.

"I… I mean, if you don't want to tell me, then you don't have to –"

"No, I want to," Lews said as he turned to him, "The sooner you know, the better you'll handle it if those particular memories suddenly begin surfacing. And lose that stuttering attitude when you're with me; it makes you look like an oaf. We must work on that, as well."

Lews took a deep breath before he spoke again. "During the Age of Legends, Aes Sedai were beginning to reach limits in some areas of the One Power channeling. Those were not really limits to be exact; more like laws of nature. Yes, even One Power channeling follows certain laws, as it is meant to do so. But blinded by our greed, we searched for ways of obtaining more power, because we though the One Power was not enough. We released the Dark One into this world because we thought we were tapping into some kind of new source of power that was trapped on the other side of the Quantum Weave reality – the Pattern, if you will – and we thought it is something we could use unto infinity if we were but to make a tear in the fabric of the Pattern. We had no idea that we were actually liberating the most sinister intelligence in existence, and we were unaware of the horrors that would be unleashed. Soon after the Dark One was released, the world went into the Collapse. Evil deeds began to spread more and more. Murders, hate crimes, fanatical sects… the society was falling apart. It lasted for about a hundred years before the War began for real. At first it was a stalemate, but later on, the Dark One's armies started winning. It was because they used inhuman means, plain and simple, and not long after, our own generals started changing sides. It was as if with every step forward by the Shadow, disorder and chaos grew, and feeding on that, the Shadow gained strength, so that its next stride was longer, and the next after would be longer still. Until it could be taken no more.

"I knew that if we don't manage some fell-swoop victory within half a year, we would be defeated. I proposed the Dark One be resealed in his prison by twisting the very Pattern around the tear, forge the new threads, then release it all to settle the way it should be. True, it was a risky move – a road of no return at best or a complete breaking of the Pattern itself at worst – but it was the best thing we had. Female half of the Aes Sedai was skeptical, however. They had their own plan of building huge devices to trap the Dark One in a stasis field – sort of a second prison around Shayol Ghul – but the dark forces took over the city where the the keys to these devices were kept, so their plan failed."

Lews smiled mirthlessly as he shook his head. "Now here comes the best part. Instead of helping me with my plan, women channelers refused, yet again. I still can't believe it. They argued that it's better to leave the Pattern alone, to not damage it any more… as if the Pattern would somehow repair on its own and reseal the Dark One. Yeah, right. I don't know what kind of twisted logic was guiding them. Maybe it was the influence of Darkfriends among their ranks? I don't know. But I like to think it's plain and simple cowardice that drove them away. It makes my resolve all the more powerful, anyway."

"So I gathered ten thousand troopers, and one hundred and thirteen male channelers, and went north to execute my plan. And we managed… barely. Without women there to temper our work – to caress the Pattern the way they knew – the male channelers had to twist the Pattern, weld it down, and leave it twisted like that. Not only that, but the Dark One's last defiant backlash was to completely screw up male's ability to channel. He sent out a wave that struck all that had a similar mind structure at the time of the sealing; all of the males. He shifted a single pathway in our brain that was used as a part of channeling process and diverted it directly into the path of other channeling pathways. It was like diverting a river back on itself. That resulted in a conflict in our minds that would slowly deteriorate our nervous system. As our brain would turn ever more into a state of chaos, we would start to go crazy. And as our mind deteriorated, so would all the bodily functions that it controlled. And finally, our bodies had begun to rot. It was horrible. None of it would have happened if women were there to protect us."

With that, Lews went silent. Rand felt strange. Thrilled, angry, terrified… all at once. He packed and stored every word Lews said in his mind. It was his memory. Renewed memory.

"How did you die?" Rand asked silently. Lews turned and realized he was not speaking to a scared boy anymore.

"I died like any other male channeler that went mad," he said, "by overdrawing on the One Power. But that's not quite accurate. I killed myself." Lews opened his cigarette case to take out another cigarette, then stopped. His look was distant, longing. "My wife, Ilyena, never liked my smoking habits, even though she said it made me look… dashing. This cigarette case was a gift from her, in fact; a symbol of loving tolerance, a sign that said she accepted all of me for who I was with all my faults and flaws." He smiled, then looked to the ground, his face contorting in pain. "I killed her when madness took me."

Rand twitched, but Lews kept speaking as if he did not notice. "I had killed my entire family and friends that happened to be in my villa on that day. I remember it still. Bars of sunlight cast through rents in the walls made motes of dust glitter where they yet hung in the air. Scorch-marks marred the walls, the floors, the ceilings. Broad black smears crossed the blistered paints and gilt of once-bright murals, soot overlaying crumbling friezes of men and animals, which seemed to have attempted to walk before the madness grew quiet. The dead lay everywhere, men and women and children, struck down in attempted flight by the lightings that had flashed down every corridor, or seized by the fires that had stalked them, or sunken into stone of the palace, the stones that had flowed and sought, almost alive, before stillness came again. In odd counterpoint, colorful tapestries and paintings, masterworks all, hung undisturbed except where bulging walls had pushed them awry. Finely carved furnishings, inlaid with ivory and gold, stood untouched except where rippling floors had toppled them. The mind twisting brought on by the Dark One's taint had struck me at the core, ignoring peripheral things.

"I wandered the palace, deftly keeping my balance when the earth heaved. The edge of my pale gray cloak trailed through blood as I stepped across the body of a woman, her golden-haired beauty marred by the horror of her last moments, her still-open eyes frozen in disbelief. My wife, Ilyena. I killed her. Yet I still called for her as if she was somewhere else. I couldn't understand why everybody was hiding from me. I saw myself in the mirror, and I couldn't understand that it was me that I was seeing. For all I knew it was some other man that looked like a clown. I was older then than I appear before you now; my hair was almost all grey. Still, pretty sleek for a four hundred year old man, if I may say so. Then, behind me the air rippled, shimmered, solidified into a man who looked around, his mouth twisting briefly with distaste. He stepped carefully, handling his cloak fastidiously to avoid brushing the dead."

Lews' face hardened into a grimace of hatred and anger.

"His name was Elan Morin Tedronai. Better known as Ishamael, the Betrayer of Hope; one of the Forsaken. I couldn't recognize him. He was just a visitor, a house guest. He had in fact come to gloat over me, but ironically, he didn't like the fact that the taint of the _saidin_ has made me drop into such madness. He wanted me to be conscious, you see, so that he could enjoy while I wept, even more so because I would realize that it was I who had killed my entire family. So he healed me – if it could be called healing at all – and I became conscious. I realized what I had done. I wept like a child as I held the rigid body of my wife to my chest; I tried to claw the vision off my eyes."

Lews cleared his throat. Rand could see his eyes glistening and feel constriction of the man's throat like it was his own. Lews continued.

"Anyway, the Betrayer started gloating, but not for long. You see, I was not called Dragon just for the sake of the name. Dragon in ancient myths is often an immortal creature of wisdom, but also the one of flaring emotions and immense power. Something had snapped in me, then, and it was not because of the Dark One's madness. For a moment I stopped crying, stopped breathing, stopped feeling. Everything in me stopped. I was empty like a shell. It was a _ko'di_, the oneness that fell over me on its own – the same thing your father teaches you, he calls it the Void – but it was more powerful than any other time. I remember beginning to chuckle, and I remember the Betrayer of Hope had stopped laughing when my chuckle became a furious laughter. He though my madness had resurfaced. Any other man would have committed suicide right then and there, but not me. I craved for blood. So I came at him with everything I had.

"The storming rage that filled me was beyond maddening. I felt nothing at all. The only thing I remember was drawing on _saidin_ way beyond what human body could endure. The rage enabled that. The Betrayer reached out. I suppose he wanted to blast me with Balefire and finish me for good. I was nowhere near so clear-minded to remember Balefire, but I was the first to unleash the power. Everything roared. The palace was obliterated completely. Betrayer fled and I chased. All over the World. He used every mean he had at his disposal to evade me – gating, skimming, flying; you name it – but he could barely manage. I still drew on the One Power and well over what anyone could channel unaided so I could track him through the pattern. I weaved every single destructive power I could think of and launched it at him. Explosions rocked all around me and I realized it was Betrayer's own counterattack. Futile. I had drawn so much of the One Power that my insides begun literary burning. Fire was bursting through my mouth and eyes – a consequence of the One Power overdraw – and my skin quickly followed. I was like a ball of fire storming through the air shooting energy woven destra beams at Ishamael. At one moment, as we fought in the air, I came not ten feet from him. His face was distorted in pain and his mouth and eyes were aflame. He too was drawing too much of the One Power, but he didn't have the Dragon within. His blasts toward me were like a candle flame against firestorm.

"My ability to hold the coherence of my body was nearing its limits; I was falling apart. At one point I charged all I could into a single destra beam and launched it toward him. He barely evaded by launching himself through the gateway. The beam struck the land underneath –we were fighting in the air, you see – and carved a humongous canyon that must have been two miles deep and a thousand miles long. I gathered whatever power was left and followed Ishamael though his gateway. I found him on a flat and empty land. A river flowed nearby, straight and broad, but I could sense there were no people within a hundred leagues. The Betrayer stood not far from me, exhausted. He was fighting to protect his body from overdraw. I remember smiling and trying to raise my hand to launch a Balefire at him. Nothing came up. I looked down and saw my charred hand burning on the ground next to me. It had fallen off. I had finally reached the limit of holding my body together. I had no strength left. My mind was unraveling and I could not remember the weaves anymore. Now the Betrayer could run away again. He was already weaving the gate.

"As he did so, I yelled after him – my voice roaring with One Power as my vocal cords were incinerated – and swore an oath to chase him, find him, and exact my revenge, even if it takes me a thousand rebirths. That's the last thing I remember. I must've died moments after. As to what exactly happened in the wake of me releasing all of that raw One Power…"

Lews trailed off, and left it at that. Rand was silent and contemplating; but he had more questions.

"Why did the madness force the men to break the world?"

Lews composed himself and returned to speaking in his self-assured manner as he tapped his unlit cigarette on the cigarette case. "Because the madness was of such nature that it forced them into overdrawing on the One Power. They could not stop it. Once their bodies failed, the power would be unleashed without proper weaves, and it would try to weave itself. In most cases it would affect land and sea – raising mountains or shifting landmasses – but it could also affect other people, shifting their minds into maddened behavior, changing their bodies into monstrosities. I remember that in one of my lucid moments I saw a report that, across what was once Arythic – the World Sea – the weaves made temporary rifts in reality that numerous creatures from other worlds used to pass through."

After a moment of silence, Rand spoke, trying to lighten up the mood, while Lews lit another cigarette. "So… what will be of you now? You will stay here and bother me forever?"

"Well, I am you, after all," Lews chuckled as he exhaled smoke, "But no, I won't bother you forever. You see, a mind is supposed to be reborn without memories of past lives, but we are a special case. I have manifested inside of you as a separate mind since this day, but it is only the 'awakening' of the Dragon, so our two minds will be… out of sync, sort to speak, for quite a while. Perhaps years, or longer. Don't worry about the madness that claimed me; the mind is reborn clear of taint. So, if we work together, we will synchronize our minds over time, and become one. It will be as if you start having urges, or sudden change of behavior; perhaps it might feel as though you're out of your body, and someone else is controlling it, but know it's only a side effect and a trick of the mind. In the meantime, my memories will seep into you and you will find certain things out as if they were your own forgotten memories, but remember that you are Ta'veren yahat – just as are your friends Mat and Perrin – and that will be your main power, so don't try drawing on the One Power for the time being. At best, it could slow the process of melding, and at the worst it could mess up your mind in an instant. Trust me."

"Fine," Rand breathed, "But this 'awakening'… how did it happen? I mean, why now?"

Lews gave him a look of surprise. "You don't remember?" he asked. "What is the last thing you _do_ remember?"

Rand frowned before speaking. "I remember me and my friends were returning to my farm. We were near my house when we were caught in a rain storm. I remember some kind of flash and nothing after that."

"That was a lighting strike," Lews said seriously. "You were its unintended mark, and it was a bull's eye hit. That lightning had served as a jump starter, awakening those dormant sections of your mind."

"But –" Rand started, but was cut off by Lews.

"No, you're not dead! The lightning may or may not kill a man, and you were in the latter case." Lews wiped his eyes, and took a deep breath of relaxation. "Listen, don't worry, kid. I'll explain many other things over time. In truth, there is much to learn, but… bit-by-bit, we'll manage it. I'll tell you more of it the next time your sub-consciousness encroaches into _Tel'aran'rhiod_, and fortunately, now that I have awakened there won't be need for something so traumatizing as a lightning strike. I will be able to pull you in quite gently. Overtime I will teach you how to use your Ta'veren yahat ability, but first I must teach you how to be a man in his element, and to act a king on his throne; a strong and flexible backbone supported with powerful muscles, remember? Now, it's time we draw this up to a close. Here."

Lews took out a switch blade and grabbed Rand's hand, turning it palm-up. "This will hurt a bit. Bear with me," he said. Rand groaned as Lews carved a symbol on his palm; a circle with a sinuous line through it. "This will be a reminder."

"Wait, there's something else," Rand croaked with a sense of urgency as he squeezed the pain out of his hand. Lews nodded him to go on. "Even if I have Mat and Perrin with me, it makes only three of us; Dark One has thirteen Forsaken and armies upon armies of Trollocs. Where will we get an army? Andor? Tear? And will there even be enough time to convince them without troubles?"

Lews contemplated a bit without taking his eyes off the boy. It appeared the bleed effect was progressing if the boy started thinking in those lines. "I see your point, kid," he said, "we can't rely on their armies; I don't know much of these countries, other than what your own memories tell me, but I'm willing to bet my ass they would rather squabble amongst each other for power, than fight against the Shadow. Their armies would be useless."

"How then?" Rand pleaded as Lews lighted yet another cigarette.

"We have Emond's Field, don't we?" Lews smiled at last.

"But we are just common farmers. Country folk." Rand said.

Lews winked at him, "Don't you worry, kid. My guess is we have some years before all Hell breaks loose. You'll see what three _Ta'veren yahat_ can do to people when their mind is set. Now, you must return to the Waking World."

Rand raised his head to look up at Lews, but there was nobody there anymore. He felt himself drifting, and unable to hold on to the picture of the majestic city at the shore of the great sea. A voice came somewhere from the back of his mind. It was Lews, but he could barely be heard.

"You must wake up, now. Please, wake up!"

"What was that?" Rand yelled as bright whiteness washed over him, his mouth turning dry. He tried imagining that he was not thirsty, tried hard, but his mouth remained dry and sticky. There were no more dreams. _Dreams? Yes, those were just dreams._

"Please, Rand, wake up!" a woman's voice beckoned and it was riddled with sobs. _Lews?_ No, that couldn't be Lews' voice. But he could not remember whose voice it was.

Rand opened his eyes, and swallowed hard; his mouth were as dry as sand. His mother was leaning over his bed as the sun beat at his eyes through the open window. Rand looked at his mother's bright grey-blue eyes that beamed down on him, and he frowned in confusion.

"Mom?"

"Oh Rand!" she cried out and hugged him tightly to her chest. "Oh, thank the Light! I feared for the worst. Your father said he found the three of you boys not a mile away when a lighting struck you. How do you feel?"

"Alright, I guess," Rand croaked and pulled himself upright. "What of Mat and Perrin?"

"They were alright," she said, "Their parents came for them after the storm. I'll go get your father. He's been worried sick."

A short kiss on the cheek, then she pulled away. Rand contemplated the strange memories as the sound of her soft footsteps diminished. It all seemed to have been just a strange dream, though a really exciting one. It was not Lews Therin Telamon who was calling him, but his mother. A strange dream brought on by a lightning strike, and he guessed that the brilliant whiteness he saw at the end was because of the sun beaming through the open window. His constantly dry throat was obviously because he didn't drink a drop of water since yesterday. _Just a dream, and nothing more_, he thought. He stood up and found his legs to be firm beneath him as he went to the pitcher to wash the grime out of his face and eyes. And as he dunk his hands into the water, his gaze froze on the palm of his left hand; for there, clearly as day, stood a fresh scar in the shape of a circle with a sinuous line down the middle.


	2. Chapter 1:  A not so empty road

_**Author's note**_

_All right, before I continue with this chapter, I have to address some things about the previous chapter of Ta'veren, considering that many of you have issued some fears or complaints concerning the content, and perhaps some of it is my fault for not making it clear enough in the previous Author's notes, or the work itself._

_First of all, some of you have expressed their fear on whether Rand will channel or not. So, about that: people, Rand WILL channel! It was never said that he will never ever channel, but that he should not try to _attempt _channeling for the time being, so that he does not unwittingly hit that inherent channeling spark. That was the whole idea. I'm sorry, but I thought it was somewhat clear. So I hope that's cleared up now._

_Second, some of you did not like certain alternative things (mainly concerning the death of Lews). Well then, don't think on it. It was just a little test, like some "what-if" setting that popped in my mind on a whim. I actually never intended to use it, but I thought: hey, what the heck, these are all supposed to be _fan's fictions_, right? This work is suppose to be Alternative Universe, so why not? Well, I won't be using some minor stuff like that in the further work, anyway, so you can relax._

_Third: Rand's mother that was mentioned is Kari, his adoptive mother. Yes, she died in the original books, but I decided to have her around. Do I really need to explain exactly how or why it is she lives? I mean, it's an Alternative Universe!_

_Finally: I have received reviews with mixed opinions regarding Lews' personality. Some have expressed their concern of Lews seeming overly rough and crude (while in the original he was said to be kind and gentle), while others say Lews in my work is not rough enough. Listen, you've seen too little of the personality that I want Dragon to be, so don't judge hastily. What you've seen is just one of Dragon's a-bit-worse self's. Ask yourselves how any of _you_ would feel if you suddenly woke up in a medieval-like world that fails to make any cultural and technological progress for some 3700-3800 years, despite the fact that you did everything to enable them fresh start (save for the unfortunate tainting of saidin). That was the idea. If you can't understand that a person can be quite a bit grumpy in that situation, then sorry. This one chapter was not _nearly_ enough for you to see the _full_ picture and personality of Lews I wanted to depict here, and maybe none of you should jump to conclusions before the plotline develops quite a bit._

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_Now, as for the new chapter, as well as all subsequent…_

_I think you should all know that, though I've tried my best to emulate Robert Jordan's writing style, I am unable to fully do so, since it is very hard for me. I don't speak old English, only modern US English. Therefore, what you will be reading is basically something that might switch styles, or use words that should not have existed in such a world. Such is the problem of all that want to pay homage to RJ and his style in their fan fictions. I hope you forgive me for that, and I hope it will not be an issue. I have also tried my best to make most of the characters seem true to the books, at least in the general lines. Therefore, I hope you don't judge any of the other characters now, or later. Judge them much later, when a larger picture develops, because I like to at least attempt to DEVELOP my characters. I've also tried to stay true to Old Tongue dictionary, but since there are so few words, I've mostly invented things. Hope it sounds cool enough for you._

_Reviews are most welcome, though, whether you post as Anonymous or signed, but what I truly appreciate are constructive reviews: how does my writing style feel – interesting, boring, ordinary? Do you like how the characters are represented or not? And know that though I am a fan of the books, I can not remember every single thing that was stated as a fact in there. Maybe I've missed some facts, and made my own assumptions. Warn me of these, either in review or in PM, if you think it might mess up the whole story._

_And did I mention this is ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE SETTING? Things will be different! Especially if three Ta'veren who _know_how to use that ability begin to twine people around them._

_**DISCLAIMER:**__** I do not own Wheel of Time, nor any of its characters. All rights go to the respected copyright holders. Oh yeah, I don't own the one song in this work, either. That one belongs to Gaelic Storm, Irish folk music band.**_

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><p><strong><em><span>Chapter 1 - A not so empty road<span>  
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The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose in the Mountains of Mist. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was _a_ beginning.

Born below the ever cloud-capped peaks that gave the mountains their name, the wind blew east, out across the Sand Hills, once the shore of a great ocean, before the Breaking of the World. Down it flailed into the Two Rivers, into the tangled forest called the Westwood, and beat at two horse riders that trekked their way along a wide, paved road that was called the North Road. For all that spring should have come a good month since, the wind carried an icy chill as if it would rather bear snow.

Gusts plastered the silver-embroidered blue cloak of Lady Moiraine Damodred as she rode silently on her mare Aldieb, listening to the rhythmic clucking of the horses' hooves against the road pavement. She and her companion were on the road even before dawn, and though they have made a great progress down their trek, it was early morning still. Pale sun blocked by gray covering was barely two of it's lengths off the horizon. She did not allow chill to touch her, though; not one like her. She was Aes Sedai, a channeler. The inherent properties of the training in the One Power she received all those years ago had inadvertently given her mind other minor mental skills, such as ignoring the heat or chill of her local surroundings.

Well, ignoring the chill was one thing, but the wind had a mind of its own, and it could care less for Moiraine's mental trick as it slivered under the hood of her cloak and seem to do all in its power to annoy her by lifting the locks of her dark hair that hung in mischievous ringlets, then flailing it all around her beautiful face. It was perfectly sculptured, yes, and it breathed with freshness of youth that would make you think she's quite young. Until you looked at her eyes, that is. For her eyes held the piercing glint that belonged to a much older woman. And strange enough, it was those eyes, together with the beautiful face, that gave her such uncanny beauty that could pin a man down and cut him down faster than any sword, killing his power to resist. It would take but one look for him to be ensnared, raking his brains out from thinking of anything that he could do for her, even the slightest thing that could please her. Anything at all!

And, as it always happens with person that has that kind of look in her eyes, Moiraine in turn couldn't care less for the wind's attempt to gain her attention. Spending twenty years in the saddle, often in wilderness and even in the midst of the greatest enemies tends to give one a particular form of mentality; something only soldiers along the Blightborder tended to gain: hardiness, pragmatic thinking, and almost a kind of immunity to the bothers of trivial things. Or perhaps it was because she was a high-standing lady of Cairhien nobility, where one wrong word, one wrong inflection in a sentence could even mean death when playing the great game of politics? Perhaps it really was. But then again, take those two – the carefully bred political mind on one hand, and the fair share of soldiering on the other – mix them up a bit, then add a whole of the knowledge the world possessed in the vaults of the White Tower, the home of all Aes Sedai. That vault had every scrap of knowledge that was accumulated for the past three and a half… nay, almost four thousand years. Kingdoms of today, kingdoms long gone, archives of sovereigns, wars, causes for those wars… and those were only the most prominent things.

This, however, was far from what she had expected.

"You seem confused," a voice came from her side.

Moiraine turned and looked up at the hardened, angular face of a middle-aged man that rode next to her. Lan Mandragoran had been her Warder and a companion for the past twenty years. He was a tall man, with shoulder-length hair graying at the temples, held back by a leather headband. True, his face seemed carved from stone, chilling blue eyes hard and glaring, and body always tense like a coiled spring ready to bounce, but this was just an outward appearance. He often displayed the habit of leaning over to her, as if his very presence would give her strength and safety; a habit he displayed at this very moment. Well, not that a woman wouldn't feel safe next to a blademaster like him, taking in the fact that Moiraine, with her petite form was no taller than his chest, but as he rode on a great, black warhorse, Mandarb, he seemed to completely tower over her.

She didn't seem to respond, so Lan pressed on, his voice deep and strong, yet she alone knew how to discern that subtle warmth and concern it held.

"I know you too well, Moiraine. Even if I was not bonded to you for almost twenty years, I would still recognize that flabbergasted look anywhere, anytime. We _need_ to talk about this whole situation."

Over the years, Lan had perfected the skill of reading the finest subtleties of her face. Moiraine was aware of this, and smiled inwardly – a sensation that Lan could also sense, considering the fact they were bonded with the One Power – so she let that smile touch the features of her face the slightest bit, thus making her unconsciously lose the 'Aes Sedai face', and assume 'The beautiful noble lady' face she so rarely wore these days. Thinking on Lan's perception, she thought he would make an excellent player of _Da'es Daemar_, but she also knew he would rather use that perception to act with the blade, rather than politics.

"Well, I know you too, Lan. At some things even better than you know yourself," she said, "and I can sense you are as dumbfound as I am, while _I_ on the other hand… I don't even know where to begin."

"Well, then," he quirked his lips just a bit, making his angular face just a bit less hard, "Begin from the first thing that's on your mind. We'll go from there on."

Moiraine took a deep breath. For a few moments she said nothing, the clucking of hooves and flapping of their cloaks being the only companion sounds.

"I suppose that's the most prudent thing to do," she said at last, her high-born posture deflating a tiny bit as she shook her head, "to tell you the truth, Lan, I can't make heads or tails of this region. All of the books, records, even the most recent correspondences claim the lands of Two Rivers should be a backwater region; poor lands of farmers and sheepherders where news from outside come last, and where the only larger communities are but four villages."

Lan took a deep breath while he seemingly scanned the surrounding area.

"True, that's what I've known of the Two Rivers as well," he nodded, "But those last two 'villages' we passed through… those were not villages at all. Taren Ferry is a full fortress, while Watch Hill is a walled and fortified town. They may not be quite the size of Baerlon, but unlike Baerlon, they sport real, thick stone walls with towers, not just a wooden palisade. Not only that, but the streets are made of cobblestone, buildings are brick, mortar and tile, while people seem to wear fancy clothing. There is not a single mark of 'village' in there!" He grunted, then turned to Moiraine. "Is it possible that everyone in Baerlon gave us the wrong information on purpose?"

"Not on purpose," Moiraine lifted one eyebrow as she pondered the situation, "but I don't think they lied when they said Two Rivers had only four villages; Baerlons themselves claimed they never went down there. I think it is reasonable to assume they don't even know _what_ is located southward!"

"Don't you think that's strange?" Lan frowned.

Moiraine let out a small giggle. "Oh, Lan, will you trust nothing?" she asked him affectionately with a shake of her head. The man just grunted and she turned her head back toward the road. There was a moment of silence before Moirane spoke again.

"Well, all that the Baerlons – and Caemlyn itself, for that matter – care about are their mines that are located west and north-west," she shrugged and shook her head dismissively, "It is a common knowledge in both Baerlon and Caemlyn that Two Rivers is a part of Andoran kingdom only in name. My nephew, Galad, told me there weren't any tax collections from Two Rivers in over six generations. And considering their location between the Mountains of Mist, and the rivers of Taren and Manetherendrelle, they would be pretty isolated. Yet, look at this place! We seem to have ended up in the middle of something that appears to be a wealthy and well developed region."

"I'll say," Lan smirked, "How many paved roads of this width and quality have you seen outside of major cities? I can count them with the fingers of one hand, and not use up all the fingers."

"Indeed," she nodded, raising her eyebrows to emphasize, "Yet, what puzzles me is that this road seems rather new."

"I have noticed it," he said, "the cuts on the stone are fresh, and the stones themselves do not seem to be weathered. I'm not a stonemason, but I'll wager this road hasn't been here longer than two, maybe three years, if that." Then he took a deep breath and frowned. "But that's not what_ I_ find to be the most interesting thing."

Moiraine sensed agitation rising within him. This particular sort of agitation smelled of eagerness, and it only happened when he was thinking of the matters of combat, wars and armies. She was not particularly fond of that side of his, but she had since learned that it was a thing natural to all men. She took a deep breath and released it slowly as she spoke. "You speak of the soldiers we saw in Taren Ferry and Watch Hill? The ones that carried the emblem of red eagle on their shields?"

"They're professionals, Moiraine," he growled, his eyes turning a deathly glare directed at nothing in particular, "They radiate with that feeling one gets from a well-trained warrior. Furthermore, their armor, weapons and gear is of the highest quality. Some of their gear – crossbows, for one – is of so strange and unusual design that I've never seen anything like it. And I've been from one end of the continent to the other! How can a region like this have such standing troops, and nobody to know about it?"

"Do you think that too is recent?" she raised her eyebrow, resigning to his professional opinion on the matter. She may have been a woman, she may have resented arms, but she was wise enough to adhere to her peer of _that_ particular matter.

"Maybe," he shrugged, "but if it was recent, then _why_ was it recent, and not before? And the red eagle emblem on their shields…" the slow shake of his head and the gesture his face made could almost be interpreted as awe. Wary awe. Moiraine knew better than to try something as futile as dispelling this man's wariness, so she took up the banner.

"Yes. It's the symbol of the kingdom of Manetheren that reigned over this area, and fell in the Trolloc wars more than two thousand years ago. I wonder…" she trailed off, and tapped her lip with a finger, a thing she often did when she was in deep thought. She sensed Lan expecting an answer through their bond, so she voiced her thoughts. "Old Blood flows strongly through these people, Lan, and the Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills. It is not entirely inconceivable that they somehow remember their origins, and are trying to hold on to their roots and traditions."

"And there we come to another thing that's weird," Lan nodded solemnly.

"You mean the old tongue they speak?" she smiled knowingly.

He just shook his head in exasperation. "I don't know, Moiraine. These people speak the Old Tongue quite extensively. The more we venture south, the more we hear it being spoken. It was not prominent in Taren Ferry – in fact I don't think I heard it at all – but when we were at Watch Hill, I heard many people conversing in a simple form of old."

"I have noticed something even stranger," she turned to him with a frown of concentration, bearing a look of importance with her, "children seem to speak better than the adults do. I have asked around last night, and I was told they learn it at school."

"School?" Lan blinked. "Why would anyone want their children to attend school at such an early age? And a language school for that matter! Why would anyone want to dedicate himself to language? There's no bread in that."

"It's different here, Lan," she shook her head, "it would appear they do not teach their children at home the way it is common in the rest of the world. They told me it's not a language school, but 'general' school, where children learn everything; reading and writing, calculation, history, philosophy… old tongue, even. The school is free of charge, and almost all parents eagerly send their children there. Apparently they are well cared for, apart from being educated, so their parents can fully concentrate on their job, without worrying for their young ones."

Lan looked at Moiraine with wide eyes. "There are nobles that get less education than what you just told me. And you say _all_ children go there?"

"I know," she breathed, then her look became distant, and eyes misty. Lan could sense rare joy and elation coming through the bond. "But you should have seen some of the children, Lan. Light, I swear many of them are brighter than your average White Tower Novice, or Accepted even."

"Is that a good thing?" he asked. It was not a stupid question, really; White Tower was very possessive, and took pride on the education it gave to the future Aes Sedai candidates. Moiraine could easily feel the unspoken reason behind his question.

"Well, I know the White Tower would stick its nose up and deny it, practically throwing a tantrum of its own," she said matter-of-factly, "but the fact remains that those children know as much as a Novice, but without that foul complacency a girl in white would come to have. I don't know, Lan," she sighed, "if these communities are so well developed that all of their children are getting the education even nobles lack, then I think they could be our hope. The World's hope."

Lan left it at that. He knew what drove Moiraine, what fueled her mind and made the beetles in her head to buzz: not the knowledge itself or the chase of knowledge, but knowledge as a means to an end. He knew Moiraine was intelligent. To her, knowledge was power, and a just cause that needed to be spread. It was those kinds of causes that Blue Ajah of Aes Sedai – the one Moiraine was a part of – sought and helped. As for him, being educated was always welcome, but the sword always came first.

They walked in silence for some time after that, just scanning the surrounding area. Despite the harsh and lasting winter that seemed to befall the entire world, it could not be denied that this land they were in was indeed wealthy. Numerous farms could be seen beside the road, and even though some of them seemed farther off, they could still see that the vast majority of them were large, prosperous households, with great housings, several barns and boasting great herds of sheep and cattle, whose bleats and mooing could be heard from a distance. Many of them seemed more like small estates with a tall wall fence separating the large inner yard and housing from the outer farm buildings. On couple occasions, Moiraine actually saw what she was sure were hired laborers that worked the farmyards. There were other travelers on the road, too; they have passed plenty of horse carts that seldom had less than two good warmblood horses, unless they were a small, traveling cart or a simple traveling gig. No matter who the traveler was, though, Moiraine and Lan were always greeted cheerfully; but the greeting itself was "_Ayden_", a word of the old tongue, which meant "good day". The further they went, greater was the impression that old blood flowed strongly through the veins of these people.

They were brought out of their inner thoughts when they saw a group of men on the left side of the road, working something around a cart pulled by six heavy dhuran horses.

"Cart trouble?" Moiraine asked Lan.

"I don't think so," he retorted. Having better eyes he could see people digging something on the side of the road. "I think they are at work of some kind."

"Well, we could use information on how far are we from Emond's Field," she said, "leave the talking to me, Lan."

He nodded his assent, and they slowed their horses to a walk when they came within reach of the cart. Even from the distance they could hear cheerful conversation, and it was not common tongue. The cart was a strong, heavy-duty cart. There were elongated, step-long prismatic stones stacked up inside of it. Men seemed to be dressed in a uniform fashion: thick, hard-to-tear labor clothes. Two of them carried spades, digging a narrow, but deep hole in the ground next to the road. The workers noticed Moirane and Lan quickly enough, and the one that stood at the top of the cart turned and greeted them with a bellowing voice that seemed to go with his broad chest and strong arms.

"_Ayden, rashamni! Ah, ha'elen, mia rea'mai._"

"And good day to you, too, good sir." Moiraine responded in common tongue, broadening her lips in a smile, with a courteous bow of the head, "But, please, do not be sorry for anything; if you will, I would like if you'd call me a simple traveler – like you first said – rather than lady."

The men stopped their work to look at her and Lan with what seemed surprise. Moiraine could sense Lan tensing up; if he was not already tensed quite a bit.

"Ah – madam, then – you are travelers from outside of Two Rivers?" the man said, this time in common tongue as well.

"Indeed, we are," she smiled, "We wanted to visit the Two Rivers region, and learn of the people here. May I ask what is it that you are doing?"

"Ah, we are placing milestones, madam," the man smiled victoriously as he slapped one of the upright stones that had the number twelve carved on it.

"Milestones?"

"Indeed, madam. This is the twelfth milestone we are placing now, which means you are exactly twelve miles from Emond's Field. I'd wager you will be there well before noon if you maintain a light trot."

Moiraine looked down the road, and then smiled at the man. "Thank you, good sir. We will not bother you anymore. Have a good day."

"And to you too, madam," he said.

As the two urged their horses into a light trot, they heard the bellowing voice of the man on the cart: "_Aymarel, mia rea'mai!_", wishing them a good journey, and calling her a lady once more. It was not until they were well away from the earshot, before Lan spoke to Moiraine.

"You handled that well. I did not recognize half of those Old Tongue words that he addressed us with when he saw us."

"I barely understood him, myself," she said while trying not to smile, "and something tells me we might have great trouble understanding people in Emond's Field if they decide speaking Old Tongue on purpose."

Lan frowned, but decided not to dwell on it now. He would deal with it when the problem arose. He would improvise; that's what he was good at. So he changed the subject.

"Did you notice there was a Domani among those workers?" he said.

"I did," she nodded gravely, "and I'm pretty sure one was a Taraboner, but without the usual mustaches. What puzzles me even more is how come the two are not at each other's throats."

Lan continued speaking without looking at her. "Back in Watch Hill, I noticed there were some Domani, but I thought nothing of it, considering the overall strangeness of the situation, and the fact that we were there only during the night. I'd wager that we would see a lot more had we been there during the day. But what would they be doing here? Kingdoms of Tarabon and Arad Doman are both on the other side of the Mountains of Mist, and there are no direct roads to connect them. There must be a hundred leagues between Two Rivers and either of them, all through forests and mountains."

"I don't know, Lan," she said absently, "I'm sure we will find out more once we reach Emond's Field. _Then_, we will have all the information we need, considering it is the largest community around."

Lan snorted a laugh. "Watch Hill was almost the size of Baerlon. How big do you think this 'village' will be?"

Moiraine said nothing, but through their bond Lan felt a tell-tale surge of excitement. Light, the woman was _hoping_ Emond's Field was big! He did not even have to look at her to know her usually piercing eyes have gained a misty quality most women only get after a good night in men's arms. Even before his groan left his throat, the sensation of defeated resignation danced through the bond to Moirane making her release what was for her a rare and sincere giggle. And it just annoyed him all the more.

"Witch," he muttered.

"Whiney," she retorted with the only thing she could remember quickly enough that was not a lie.

And they both smiled at each other.

There were no hard feelings among them, really. It was rare moments like these, when they were all alone that they could spare a couple of precious moments to be sincere with each other. The feeling of annoyance Lan felt was more like the one a brother felt when his sister teased him, which Moiraine actually did every now and then in those rare moments of respite. And Lan loved Moiraine as if she was truly his sister. In a sense, she _was_ a spirit sister, and that made their bond even stronger than in real siblings.

Twenty years ago, when she had bonded him, Lan had often found himself wondering if the bond would grow into something more. It was known that Aes Sedai of the Green Ajah often married their Warders. But he had long ago abandoned those thoughts, not out of fear, nor out of awkwardness, but because he simply never had any of those feelings for her to begin with; and neither did she have any for him. But the mutual caring was unquestionably there. The only question for him was whether it was the nature of the bond that made an artificial feeling, or if the bond's presence made the feeling surface. But as he felt Moiraine's hand on his forearm and looked down to meet her sisterly smile, he realized it was only a pointless academic question. In the end, it did not matter if the feeling was real or an illusion. And his hard face softened just a bit.

But then a stray thought struck him, making his face hard all over again.

"What is it?" Moiraine asked. The shift of disturbing emotions could not pass her by.

Lan kept silent for a short moment, sorting out through the series of thoughts and implications, before he spoke.

"What if _he_ is in Emond's Field?

Moiraine stiffened. There was no need for Lan to clarify as to who "he" was. For the first time since dawn she became truly alert, distant, and a face of serenity fell on her. He knew that face all to well. It was a true face of an Aes Sedai: serenity. Twenty years next to her, feeling whatever she felt when they fought and when she channeled had taught him that that's when Aes Sedai were most deadly; that state of mind was what enabled them the fastest and strongest path to grasp the True Source.

"If we do find him," she spoke at last, "then I say: thank the Light. The two of us have spent nearly twenty years searching for him, and it has already been way too long. Yes, I will thank the Light, Lan, for this is the last place on the World where we hadn't yet searched, and if he is not here…"

There was no need for her to finish the sentence; even Lan could feel the unspoken 'we would be doomed' as he sensed weariness lay heavy over his Aes Sedai. He said nothing, and she continued after releasing a weary sigh.

"He was born on the day of the Battle at the Shining Walls. Gitara Sedai sensed him being born, and managed to convey the foretelling throughout agonizing pain, before she died of shock. I remember it as clearly as if it were yesterday."

She took a deep breath before continuing. "If we had found the boy while he was still a baby, things would have been different. Very different."

"He could be controlled more easily, you mean," Lan said.

Moiraine looked at him wryly, with a touch of annoyance.

"Well, you sure know how to put it bluntly" she said with a hint of bitterness, "but it's not controlling him, per se. Light, he is a _man_ that can _channel_, Lan. He is prophesized to break the world all over again. What were we to do if not at least _try_ to mitigate the damage? The only way to do that is if the Aes Sedai were to guide him."

Lan nodded. "And it would be much easier to guide him if he was found while he was still a baby. You have repeated that many a times, Moiraine, and I realize that point of view better then most men or women do."

"That's true," she smiled apologetically at him, "but still, better to find him late then never. The boy may be twenty years old by now, but with a skilled maneuvering and a bit of careful prodding… I'm sure I would have my way even around one as old as him. Still, I just wish we had found him sooner. Things would be different. As different as they would have been if somebody else had found him first."

"You mean the Darkfriends?" he asked.

She shook her head. "The Red Ajah, Lan," she said gravely, "I would have been more afraid if it were Red Ajah who found him than anything else; even more than Darkfriends. Red Ajah's main purpose and goal is to seek out men that can channel, and gentle them. The only guarantee the boy would have against that is the Prophecy. And I'm not even sure that a Red sister would care even for the prophecy. Many of their society can be… too fanatical at times. Light, there is no guarantee that they haven't already found him and unwittingly gentled him like any other man. Light knows they've went against consensus of the White Tower like that before. We can only hope, and keep searching. Come. Let us hurry to Emond's Field."

Lan said nothing, but inwardly he shared Moiraine's feelings. The dreaded person they were searching for was not yet a man, but he would be their savior and destroyer at the same time. The two urged their horses into a light gallop, leaving the painful thoughts behind them. The wind was cold, and it cut to the bone, but the need to know was heating Moiraine from within. How big is Emond's Field? What are the people like? And, will she find who she is looking for there? Those were not the only questions spinning in her mind, but they all led to one, ultimate question: what is the reason for all this? Almost unconsciously, she channeled One Power into their horses, thus relieving their tiredness. And the horses ran.

As they approached their destination, the farms and estates became ever more prominent, and there seemed to be less and less land that was not being farmed. There seemed to be more people on the road, as well. They overtook many horse carts that were on their way to Emond's Field, even an occasional horseman. And then, as they climbed the top of a hill, the city burst into view. And they just had to stop and watch.

For what they were told should be a village, was in fact the size of a big town. A small city, even, and it was most certainly larger than Baerlon. Great bright-gray wall that was at least ten spans high surrounded the town, and there were at least twenty even taller towers along its whole length, each sporting a blue banner with red eagle of Manetheren on it. Many red-tiled rooftops could be seen rising beyond the wall, and a couple of buildings were even taller than that. There were numerous pillars of smoke rising from the chimneys, which must have numbered in the hundreds, and one chimney with its smoke overshadowed all others. It was a chimney of one huge building that was on the eastern side of town. The chimney was slim and tall – taller than any other thing in that town – and the incredible amount of smoke rose from its top, before it was carried eastward by the cold wind. The building whose chimney it was also had a great tower with no windows, whose purpose neither Moiraine, nor Lan could fathom. And there were other things that could be seen above the wall line. Something that appeared to be huge construction hoists and scaffoldings dotted the far side – a telltale sign this town was far from finished in its development. But one building caught their eye more than any other. It was a great, domed building, maybe a palace of some sort, constructed near the center of the city, and one could easily see even from afar that it was constructed with great care and architectural mastery.

And to Moiraine, the image of this city was simply stunning. She turned to Lan, and she could see his face was as surprised as any normal person would be; something she hardly remembered ever witnessing when it came to the man. She was sure she had the identical look on her face, even though her Aes Sedai training should have ensured she maintained her serenity; but this was completely unexpected. For what they saw could not be described as anything else _but_ a big town, or a small city. True, it was not nearly as big as some major cities, like Tar Valon or Cairhien, but it was most definitely big.

"Well, what do you think," Lan asked her, trying to keep the studious face.

Moiraine just stood there mute for a while, before she managed to form any kind of answer. "I think it's bigger than Baerlon," she said.

Lan croaked a laugh, "Baerlon? The thing approaches the size of Caemlyn's Inner City. The area of Emond's Field should not be having more than two thousand people, but I'd wager there are at least ten times as many souls living behind those walls."

"Well, there's only one way to find out," she said as she urged her mare down toward the town. Lan shook his head and followed her.

The northern gates that led into town were huge – wide enough for two carts laden with hay to pass side by side, and the huge doors made of heavy wood and riveted with thick steel plates on the outer side were open for traffic. They bore a large symbol of eagle that carried a shield over its chest and two swords in its talons, the same symbol that was carved in rock above the entrance. There were also two long Manetheren banners that hung at each side of the entrance, and a pair of soldiers was guarding the gate. As they were walking slowly, Lan used the opportunity to carefully examine the men. They looked just like the other soldiers he saw at Taren Ferry and Watch Hill: conical helmets with face guard that covered their entire head, leaving only slits for their eyes and mouth; segmented breastplate that enabled great mobility; plate shoulder and neck guards, thick plated bracers and gauntlets, boots and knee guards; plated belt that covered a major portion of their waist, with divided plate mail skirt that hung to their knees. And that was just the armor. They carried large round shield across their backs, and underneath the shield was that strange crossbow jutting above the soldier's left shoulder. It was not really _that_ strange. In fact it looked pretty much like any crossbow, but it had a strange box attached on its upper side and some sort of lever as well, and Lan could not figure what that thing was for. Jutting from behind the other shoulder was the handle of a slightly curved double handed sword that seemed to be designed to hack through heavy armor, rather than slash lightly armored foes. There was also a one-handed sword at the hip, and some more of those strange wooden boxes from the crossbow hanging from the soldier's belt. To top it all, the soldier held a spear next to him, slightly longer than he was tall, and the spear point was actually a two-foot long blade, like a short sword. The whole equipment seemed to be of great encumbrance, but he has seen more extreme cases. Then again, these soldiers seemed more than capable of carrying it, and the armor itself might not even be that heavy at all.

As they walked down the wide cobblestone street, they finally had the opportunity to closely examine this town. There appeared to be mostly three or four-story buildings, which – though obviously new – were built with utmost care and precision. The outer facades were often decorated, if nothing else, then with nicely shaped cornerstones, as well as window and door frames and ledges that were even decorated with friezes here and there. Moirane could easily notice what was considered a woman's touch to one's home, such as flowers and vines that decorated many terraces and facades, but she could not deny that buildings themselves were nice. But what struck her the most was the vibrancy of the town.

There were people milling the streets everywhere. Even though the winter still lingered, the town had a feeling of a buzzing hive in the middle of hot summer. There were many shops and vendors at wider areas and intersections, and Moiraine and Lan could hear many voices haggling, bartering, and shouting in both old and common tongue. Kids that have apparently finally been let out of their houses after the long winter, ran wildly through the streets, and were mostly shouting in old tongue. Housewives were hanging their carpets and tapestries, beating the dust out of them and letting them absorb cold freshness. No spring would catch _them_ unprepared.

"Well, what is your first impression, Lan?" Moiraine said with well-contained excitement.

Lan turned to her and gave her a report, no less. "There are plenty of soldiers patrolling the streets, and I'm pretty sure this is their base of operation, but I don't know where their garrison is, yet. From the first glance, I'd say the town's streets are shaped pretty much in the pattern of a spider's web, and buildings provide additional defensive capabilities with their positioning. I think that whoever constructed this town knew how to make a real defensive complex."

A surge of healthy emotions rose from her chest, and Moiraine laughed out loud before she could catch herself. It was just like Lan to give military assessment whenever she asked him of general feeling of the town.

"Oh, Lan, you'll never mend your ways," she smiled.

Lan didn't look the least bit embarrassed, though. "You want a general sense of this town? Well, then, tell me what you smell."

Moiraine closed her mouth for a moment – it was always risky breathing through your nose in any town – and inhaled carefully. She could taste the hot pastries in the air, sense the brand new, freshly dyed textiles in vending shops, the wet pastiness of mortar, tangy smell of wood, and…

"There's no foul city smell!" she concluded with astonishment and turned to Lan. He pointed toward the roadside, where Moiraine saw a small opening covered with iron grates. Turning her gaze left and right showed more of them further down other streets.

"Sewers," she realized, "only the largest cities have that. That's a large construction endeavor. I can't think of these people being smart enough to even think of sewers, let alone construct them; someone else must have shown them how to do that. But on another note," she abruptly changed the subject, "there really does seem to be plenty of both Taraboner and Domani folk here. It's strange, though… I can't make the heads or tails of their appearances. The clothing they wear appears to be a mix of both cultures, along with something which is probably local. Hairstyles as well; I see Domani women wearing Tarabon-style thin braids, and I also see both wearing one long braid down their back, which is not something of either side. That one must be local. Few veils, too."

"But what are they all doing here, Moiraine?" Lan muttered, "There seems to be more of them than there are locals."

"I don't know. We will ask around in due time," she retorted, "But first we need to find an Inn. I believe we will get all the answers we need there."

As they made their way through the ever-increasing throng and buzz of the main street, they heard cheerful tunes coming from somewhere nearby. Moiraine turned her head, and saw a young boy – no more than sixteen or seventeen years old – playing a fiddle and singing, while being accompanied by his friend who played a lute. And the two were accompanied by no less than five smiling girls. The boys really did seem to know their way with the instruments, and the cheerful tunes and words filled the street with melody, drifting finally to her ears.

_You say that you're in love with me,_

_Listen to what I say,_

_You're too young to come with me,_

_And must be on your way._

_Now, stop your silly cryin' out,_

_How can I make you see,_

_That I'm a Tinker rover, love,_

_And you'll not come with me._

_Go home, girl go home!_

_Go home!_

Again, emotions came unbidden, and Moiraine had to smile when she heard the tunes. The words were in common tongue, true, but it somehow fit what she had expected from Two Rivers. The boys that played saw her, quickly approached while moving in the rhythm of the music, then kept singing and playing just for her. It was all Moiraine could do not to giggle like a girl; the tunes seemed to wake something in her, a desire to dance that she hadn't felt in a long time. Most peculiar, that. Other girls that followed the two boys stood at the side, torn between jealousy and awe directed toward the lady and her man at arms. The song that told the story of the young Tinker who tried to reason with the young girl of high stature that fell in love him, and the boy sang to Moiraine, as if he himself was the Tinker, and she the young girl in question.

_The hour's drawn long, my love,_

_You mum's expecting thee,_

_Don't tell her that you've met me here,_

_For I'm a Tinker free._

_And let's get off me jacket, now,_

_Your love will have to wait,_

_For I am twenty-two years old,_

_And you, you're only eight._

That last stanza had Moiraine laughing her heart out loud. She could never remember someone singing a song like that to her. Not ever! Wherever she went, people were afraid of Aes Sedai, revered her, hated her even, but nobody ever sang to her with such casual abandon. It all bode well for her – the song, the boy, and the thought of being casual with people without them caring for her being Aes Sedai – and she clapped for the two boys before she handed them a coin from her pouch.

"Thank you, my lady!" said the boy that sang, while being echoed by his friend, "you must be a newcomer here in Two Rivers, am I right?"

"Indeed, I am, young man," Moiraine smiled, carefully examining the lean-faced, broad-shouldered boy while she spoke, "But I prefer you not call me a lady. Just call me Moiraine, and this is my friend, Lan. And what might your names be?"

"I am Ewin Finngar, and this is my friend, Conall Thane," the boy responded eagerly, not taking his eyes off Moiraine, "we are Gleeman apprentices. Forgive me, but you can not be anything _but_ a lady, Moiraine. How else would I call an Aes Sedai with her Warder?"

Moiraine flinched, and sensed through her bond that Lan tensed to the point of drawing a sword. How could the boy know what she is? She took notice of the surroundings, and saw that many people had stopped whatever they were doing and looking at her and Lan. She could hear an occasional whisper of her being Aes Sedai, and the looks the people gave her varied from reverence, to awe, and to interest. Most of all, interest. Especially the young girls that were following Ewin a few minutes ago; their faces were painted with joyous amazement. Moiraine held on to her serene face, and looked back at the young boy.

"What makes you think I'm an Aes Sedai, Ewin?" she asked.

"Well, it was easy," he said eagerly, "First of all, you look like a highborn lady. Second, you wear a Great Serpent ring on your finger that is a mark of every Aes Sedai, and you have handed me a coin of Tar Valon. Master Lan here, he wears a cloak that – no offence intended – makes him appear like a disembodied head, which is what I would expect from Warder's color-shifting cloak. Finally, it's your face, my lady; it appears young and beautiful, but at the same time matured and wizened. It's exactly like the books say! We all learn these things at school, my lady; it's simply common knowledge."

Moiraine lifted her eyebrow. Their schools were apparently something that passed on knowledge quite well; maybe even too well – her darker, more cautious side whispered. But she had to admit that though the boy seemed eager to please, he had a civil way with words that made her feel good. Especially the part where he called her young and beautiful. _Oh, get a grip woman, you're behaving like a Novice_. After mentally kicking herself, Moiraine turned to the boy.

"And what if I was not wearing my ring, or if Lan was wearing a different cloak?" she asked.

Ewin seemed a bit confused by the question, but still answered. "I think that I would have recognized you because of your face sooner or later, but I would have sung for you none the less. My lady, _are_ you an Aes Sedai?"

Moiraine smiled. "I am. Now, would you be so kind as to show me to a nice Inn?"

"Inn?" Ewin frowned, "A simple Inn is not for someone like you, my… ah, Moiraine Sedai. You should stay at the Palace!" he said, emphasizing the word 'Palace'.

Now, _that_ was interesting, Moiraine thought. If there was a palace in this town, then there must be a governing noble, and that gave her both pause and an idea of opportunity. She weighed both of it down before speaking again.

"Well, I'm sure I'll be invited sooner or later, but for now, lead me to the Inn, young Ewin. From there, we shall determine where to go next." She smiled and he bowed in turn.

"Ah, as you wish, Moiraine Sedai. Then, follow me," Ewin said, flourishing his cloak like a Gleeman, after which he and his friend led the way down the street, leaving the murmuring folk behind them.

As he led them, Lan turned to Moiraine and whispered: "What's going on with you?"

Moiraine turned to him with a questioning look. Lan looked toward the boy for a moment, making sure he's not overhearing, then elaborated.

"Smiling like that? Laughing? Don't get me wrong, dear sister, but for the lack of a better word, I find you are behaving almost… giddy."

Moiraine whipped her gaze forward, and Lan felt a pang of serious self-conscious judgment coming from her through their bond. She looked downward, then spoke:

"You're right. I've been noticing it for a while now – ever since we've approached Emond's Field, in fact." She looked to him for a moment, and Lan could sense mixed feelings from her, before some kind of realization dawned on her and she looked to him wide-eyed.

"I believe there's something in this town," she said quietly, "some presence. Maybe a ter'angreal in effect, or… I don't know. But whatever it is, I believe it is affecting me, as well as people around us. And it's important."

Lan nodded silently, then spoke: "I've been inside a Void since we saw Emond's Field, so I haven't been _feeling_ anything. But for a while now, sudden emotions were rising and skimming along the edge of the Void. Positive emotions, all of them."

Moiraine took this to heart and had to agree with him; all she felt was positive. As if her outer protective mask was slowly chipping away. She took hold of her emotions and slipped into her Aes Sedai serenity, preparing to reach toward the Source if needed be. Some unknown force was having its hold over this town, and she had to be ready for it.

Ewin led them to a vast grass-covered, circular clearing in the center of the town that he told them was called the Green. The road branched there into a circular path along the sides of buildings, while the main road went straight across the clearing, where a stone bridge was erected over a wide stream that cut the clearing straight down the middle and went eastward. This part of the town was the most crowded, especially near the side where Moiraine could see a marketplace with numerous stands and stores. She could now clearly see the location of the Palace on roughly the opposite side from whence they came, but something else caught her attention.

It was a statue that stood near the center of the clearing, one depicting a man and a woman that stood backing against each other. His left hand held her right one from behind, their fingers intertwined, and a gilded chain twirled all the way around both their forearms. He held a sword much like Lan's, while she held a fireball made of bronze on her outstretched palm. Both had crowns on their heads. For all the artwork she ever saw, this one was a masterpiece; Aes Sedai and her Warder, the chain symbolizing the One Power bond. It suddenly dawned on her as to why people did not seem to shun her.

"Ewin, can you tell me who that statue over there represents?" she asked.

"Oh, that's the statue of king Aemon and queen Eldrene," the boy said eagerly, "They were our last king and queen – of the kingdom of Manetheren. She was Aes Sedai as well, and he was her Warder. It is said that king Aemon died right here on this field, fighting the Shadowspawn, and that's why we named it Emond's Field. The queen felt his death, and in her rage summoned all of the One Power, thus killing off all of the Shadowspawn. But she drew too much, and died, burning the city of Manetheren to its ashes. But it was not before the citizens fled to safety. We are descendants of those Manetherens, and we want to restore our legacy. We even started speaking in old tongue once more."

Moiraine was stunned. "How did you know of all that?" she had asked before she could think. Few people, save for the great nobles, knew of how Manetheren died. Ewin, though, didn't notice her surprise.

"Well, we're not sure exactly," he scratched his temple, "It all begun on its own maybe five years ago, when people first started having these dreams."

Moiraine quirked an eyebrow. "Dreams?"

"Dreams of Manetheren, and battles against the Shadowspawn," Conall responded instead of Ewin, speaking for the first time, "It was not much at first, but it spread, and people started speaking old tongue. At first it would be like a slip – one moment they would speak common, then old tongue the next – but it was not noticed immediately, because everyone could understand each other none the less. After a while, we just embraced it, and it comes natural to us. We actually have to concentrate to speak common tongue. Not so much common anymore, now, is it?" he laughed.

Moiraine could not but allow that emotion to surface, and she smiled. Old Blood was immensely strong here, indeed. The boys turned left, leading them along the circular road to a large three-story building there, which had a board above its door that named it "Winespring Inn". Moiraine's keen eye could see this building was older than almost any other, and that it had been smaller once, but had undergone certain expansions since.

"Here we are," Ewin said, "The Winespring Inn. Talk to Master Bran al'Vere. He is the Mayor, and together with his wife leads the High Counsil, and they will help with whatever it is that you need."


	3. Chapter 2: Of Emond's Field

**_Author's notes  
><em>**

_I would like to say thanks to all of you who have given me so many positive reviews. And I do mean many; over 60 reviews for two chapters? Heh, I must be doing something right. I would especially like to thank all of you who have given me long and/or constructive reviews that aim to help me improve my writing. I'm glad to see many semi-anonymous reviews, but I'm sorry I cannot give any of them a decent reply via private message. So, it goes like this:_

_Thanks, __**J.K.S**__! Your review (along with some of the others) has made me deal with the plot hole that concerned the Two Rivers remaining secret._

_Thanks, __**Aiel**__, for asking good questions pertaining dreams (the reason for which will be eventually explained). But as for the soldiers, believe me when I say that any soldier can achieve very high level of skill within one year of training. My country had a long tradition of mandatory military service. And to that matter – my thanks go to__** Garret**__ and__** etin**__, for defending the plausibility of the professionalism of Manetheren soldiers._

_Thanks, __**kacy**__, for pointing out that particular fact that concerns presence of positive emotions. But I have intentionally written of those sensations like that, and the reason is… in the chapter which will come sometime after this one. I can't specify which chapter, but I can promise you will have your answer before our heroes leave the Two Rivers._

_And thanks, __**Underscore1990**__, I too hope I will be able to continue this story in the way I intended. Yeah, perhaps I did bit off more than I can chew, but hey, if you want to do something, do it good. And as for your other questions, I assure you I've thought of them before you did. I tend to make things as plausible as possible, but I hope you are not a nitpicker; but if you are, let's just say that I will go along the lines and leeways Robert Jordan himself has imposed in many things. And I remind all other readers to those facts, as well._

_Don't worry, I've not abandoned this story. It's just that good story takes time, and I have University obligations. No, really, when I had my finals this February, I have had nightmares of my professor transforming into Gandalf yelling "You shall not pass!". Yeah. So, here's a new chapter of Ta'veren, I hope you like it, and I certainly hope you give me your reviews, concerns, criticism… the positive ones, hopefully…_

_**DISCLAIMER:**__ I do not own Wheel of Time, nor any of its characters. I don't really know who does since Robert Jordan passed away, but it's not me._

* * *

><p><strong><span>Chapter 2 - Of Emond's Field<span>**

Just as Moiraine and Lan stopped in front of the Inn, Bran al'Vere walked out of the Inn's wide entrance, moving surprisingly agilely for a man of his girth, nearly the double of anyone Moiraine has seen in the town. A smile split his round face, which was topped by a sparse fringe of gray hair. He was dressed in fine clothing – an elegant black coat, embroidered at the fringes – which was a thing Moiraine did not expect from an innkeeper, but it was still fitting, considering that he was supposed to be the closest thing to a leader here. Perhaps he was preparing for some kind of an official meeting? His whole appearance spoke that he was not quite a noble, but still, far more than just an ordinary citizen.

"Ah, welcome travelers, to our humble town. I am Brandelwyn al'Vere, at your service." The Mayor greeted them with outstretched hands as Moiraine and Lan dismounted from their horses. As if by cue, two young men appeared and took hold of the horses' reigns, leading them around the Inn toward the stables.

Master al'Vere shook hands with Lan, then tenderly took hold of Moiraine's hand, noticing the Aes Sedai ring. "Ah, you're Aes Sedai," he said with reverence, "It would be my greatest honor if you would bless my humble Inn with your noble presence."

"You speak too highly of me, Master al'Vere," Moiraine smiled, "My name is Moiraine, and this is Lan. I must admit that a bit of rest and relaxation would be nice after a long ride from Watch Hill."

"Oh, but of course, please, this way, Moiraine Sedai," he said, motioning toward the entrance.

The moment she entered, Moiraine was welcomed by an all-too-pleasant scent of wood, mixed with stew, freshly baked honey cakes and ale; a well-known scent of a good Inn. She took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the change from the brightness of the outside, taking in the sights of the interior; and of the warmth within. Though the Inn itself was made of stone, the interior was mostly wood, with heavy beams crossing the ceiling, supported by thick wooden pillars. Tables and chairs seemed to be crafted and carved with great care, almost as if they were meant for some noble house, and Mistress of the Inn obviously took great care they be polished to a glint. The great fireplace made of river rock stretched half the length of the big, square room, with a lintel as high as a man's shoulder, and the crackling blaze on the hearth vanquished the chill from outside. Wall above the fireplace was decorated with hunting trophies. Stuffed heads of buck, doe, wild hog and even a great bearskin – all with head and gaping jaws – was spread across the floor there, and there was an owl and a pheasant in full-body placed on top of the hearth. Almost every wild animal from the area was there, but strangely enough, there were no wolves. Moiraine thought back on numerous Inns she had visited throughout her quests, and no matter the nation, if the wolf was caught and killed, it most certainly _would_ be displayed with pride. The fact that the trophy of a whole bear was there made it all the more strange. Something wriggling around her legs brought her out of her thoughts, only to look down and see a big yellow cat cuddling against her with an audible purr.

"Scratch, you lazy cat, don't bother the lady. Shoo!" Master al'Vere waved absentmindedly.

"Oh, nonsense," Moiraine smiled as she took the cat in her arms and scratched his head. "It is well known that cats like Aes Sedai, and vice versa," she said matter-of-factly.

"Ah, well, I'm sure Scratch will be thankful for your attention," the Mayor said, then pointed to a table. "Here, closer to the hearth, to take away the chill."

Moiraine and Lan seated themselves into large, comfortable chairs with armrests. Large window let plenty of light in, and its double-glass panels have effectively kept the warmth of the fire inside. From here, Moirane could notice that the other walls were not barren at all, as there were a couple of nice tapestries that depicted forests and animals.

As she and Lan seated themselves, two smiling, young girls approached the table and stood waiting for the guests' to voice their needs. Moiraine took their features in one glance. Both had gold-blond hair and chestnut eyes, typical of Taraboner, but they wore their hair in one long, thick braid which they proudly displayed as it fell down their chest. Both wore identical, tight-fitting, long white dresses. Tight vest made of quality wool, embroidered with intricate interlace only accentuated their slim waist and strong hips, as well as other feminine features, and together with the dress left little to the imagination, but still managed to give a sense of modest appearance. All in all, it was a maid's uniform, but it did not differ too much from what Moiraine had seen women wearing around town earlier that day. It was a strange fashion which, from what she could see, mixed Tarabon clothing style with something that was obviously local.

Master al'Vere leaned down. "May I suggest warm, honeyed wine to warm you up from this chill? My wife made some fine honey cakes, as well."

"Yes, that would be nice, indeed," Moiraine said, then turned her attention the cat she held in her arms, lifting him up and nudging his pink nose with her own.

The two Taraboner girls curtsied and hurried toward the kitchen, and Moiraine's keen eye noticed them slightly swaying their hips in a relaxed, seductive manner of a Domani woman. True, it was not completely mimicked, but they seemed well along the way. Master al'Vere then turned toward his guests with his wide and friendly inviting smile. "I assume you came from across Taren? Few come to the Two Rivers from north, nowadays; or ever, for that matter."

"Oh? I was under the impression there is only one road that leads into the Two Rivers." Moiraine said innocently. "Are you saying people come here from Ghealdan in the south, perhaps?"

"Oh, no, not from there," Master al'Vere raised his hands, "But from Tarabon, Arad Doman and Almoth Plain. Nobody crossed Manetherendrelle or even forest of shadows to the south. Though, we wouldn't be surprised to see Ghealdans coming here very soon, considering this civil unrest, and False Dragon they've been having these past months. If you think on it, the Manetherendrelle and the forest are not that dangerous to cross. The forest is more of a forgotten land, and that is the prime reason why people don't travel that way; too much a bother to wade their way through leagues of forest shrubs and undergrowth." He paused to take a weary sigh. "Not this time, I'd wager. After all, Taraboners and Domani have crossed the Mountains of Mist to get here. What are a few shrubs and wolves compared to that?"

"Yes, we have noticed there are many Taraboners and Domani in the Two Rivers, Master al'Vere," Moiraine said, taking on a serious tone. "But why would they be crossing the Mountains of Mist at all? Why _are_ they here?"

The Mayor took on a serious expression, and spoke gravely. "Never underestimate the horrors of war, Moiraine Sedai."

For a fleeting moment Moiraine quirked her eyebrow in surprise, then squinted as the memory of the events from a few years past came rushing from the back of her mind. She mentally kicked herself for overlooking something so important.

"They are the refugees," she said at last, then looked back to the man, "from the latest war between Tarabon and Arad Doman five years ago?"

"Indeed," he said, then took a deep breath, giving more weight to the words that followed. "When faced with the prospect of his own demise, a man finds the impossible less of a challenge. Braving the traitorous passes of the Mountains of Mist was a far better prospect to many of those people, than trying their luck in the war-torn lands. Thus, many poor souls have fled the struggles, ending up here. Made us wonder what was so terrible for them to want to do that, it did. That is, until they told us the stories. Well, I can understand you not knowing of the situation here in the Two Rivers, haling all the way from Tar Valon, I suppose; few people even from Baerlon venture as far as Taren Ferry, and they don't usually care of what is going on here. Why, I'm sure that we haven't had anyone from Baerlon anywhere on this side of Taren for at least six or seven years. The last one to come from up there was just some shady fellow that ran from gambling debts. And he was gone just as quickly."

Moiraine shared a look of understanding with Lan. The war between Tarabon and Arad Doman was something devastating. The Armies of both nations have crossed the Almoth Plain in the same time, but they took different paths, and they never met each other. Instead, they ended up pillaging and burning the unprotected towns of their rival for months until they realized what had happened, and retreated to find their respective homes devastated. Even then, the division within both of their respective armies has led to mass desertion, leaving numerous groups of militant war profiteers and thieves that kept laying waste to the land for months. In her opinion, the whole campaign was the greatest fiasco on the part of Tar Valon in the last two hundred years. What followed were reports of numerous refugees fleeing the conflict, but the Tower was too busy trying to repair the damage by influencing the sovereigns of the two countries, never caring to check on where the numerous refugees had disappeared to. _That's what happens when we only tried to expand White Tower's influence, and nothing more,_ Moiraine thought bitterly.

"I've seen many Domani and Taraboners in my life," she said out loud, voicing an oddity that was buzzing in the back of her head, "yet, while we were passing Taren Ferry and Watch Hill, we did not see many of them."

"Well," Master al'Vere smiled as he rubbed his chin and looked up, "the old saying around here goes something like… ah, "the trees are blocking my view of the forest". Forgive my rudeness, Moiraine Sedai, but you _must've_ seen them, it's just that since you probably weren't looking _for_ them, you didn't pay any attention."

Moiraine smiled faintly, only a quirk of her lips and brightening in her eyes. It was interesting to talk with this innkeeper; the world seemed to be in short supply of smart men of late. Master al'Vere shifted on his feat, shrugged off the impending awkward silence, and cleared his throat.

"Well, that could be one of the reasons," he quickly continued, "But another reason is that the nations are… well, melding," he said while spreading his hands with a most innocent look. "My serving girls, for instance; they are Taraboner, but they have abandoned wearing their veil, and wear a typical Two River braid. They consider themselves Manetherens, now, and we would have accepted them even if they held on to their customs."

Moiraine made a mental note. It would appear that the local folk were honest and most welcoming; unlike their neighbors from Baerlon who seemed to hate Aes Sedai almost as much as they would a Darkfriend.

"Oh, I have just remembered something," she said at last, with an obvious surprise in her voice. "Earlier today, we met a few men that were placing milestones along the road. They were polite enough, directing us toward Emond's Field, but I have noticed something odd. You see, there were one Taraboner and one Domani man among them, both working side by side. I know they live and work as part of your community, but I would never expect to see a Taraboner and Domani in the same room together, let alone be coworkers. You understand what I mean, don't you?"

"Ah, yes," the Mayor looked to the ground, "We, in the Two Rivers have expected that would be the problem as well. However, that did not turn out to be so. True, there were some incidents, even two killings right here in Emond's Field all those years ago – most unfortunate events, might I add – but it would appear that the people became tolerant of one another. Perhaps you should ask Taraboners and Domani themselves, but according to them, they just wanted to live in peace; away from the horrors of war. And, as for the incidents, well…"

"Yes, how _did_ you solve those?" Moiraine asked with genuine interest.

"That's just it," he said, scratching behind his right ear, "We hadn't done much at all. The incidents simply ceased after the young lords took hold of the situation."

Moiraine was surprised. "The young lords? I didn't think that there were any lords in the Two Rivers."

Master al'Vere opened his mouth to speak, when the door creaked, and Mistress al'Vere came in with a large tray of honey cakes, closely followed by one of the servant girls that carried a tray with two cups and a pitcher of steaming mulled wine. The aroma of freshly-baked bread wafted ahead of her, and Moiraine sensed her stomach growling in eager expectation. For a moment there, she felt Lan's level of alertness rise, but she knew it was because he felt the same as she; there really seemed to be no man that could say 'no' to a nice home-made meal.

A slender, and still very much attractive woman, with her thick braid of graying hair pulled over one shoulder, Mistress al'Vere smiled in a motherly fashion that took in both of them, making Moiraine's mind flashback to the days when she was a Novice at the Tower, and when Verin Sedai looked at her in much the same fashion; it even _made_ her feel like a Novice, and it was hard for her to hold on to the dominating noble aura. The woman wore similar gown like the serving girls, except her vest was green with even more detailed golden-yellow embroidery, and her white dress had the similar golden designs down her sleeves and along the rim of her dress.

"And here she is," Master al'Vere said as he reached out to his wife, "easily the best cook in Emond's Field, and not a man for miles around but eagerly leaps at a chance to put his feet under her table. May I present my wife, Marin."

"I hope Bran didn't bother you too much," she said, as she placed the tray in front of the two guests, followed by the maid that poured wine in two intricately decorated silver goblets.

"Oh, no, Mistress al'Vere," Moiraine said as she ceased scratching the yellow cat's ear in order to reach out for the wine, but the big fellow kept purring blissfully in her lap, anyway. "Your husband was most informative, in fact; particularly about Emond's Field and the whole situation with Tarabon and Arad Doman refugees. To tell you the truth, we weren't expecting these lands. No offence, but outside world always said that the Two Rivers were isolated, backwater and a poor region, where news always arrived last. We would be most grateful if you would sit with us, and share your knowledge of the region."

"Why, of course," Marin said, seating herself down the table, followed closely by her husband, who had a bit more trouble settling his large girth. "We have a relatively fresh saying here: '_rash ti Aylea hae nur shanye_'. Oh, sorry, what I said was… ah, 'path to Light leads through knowledge'."

Moiraine couldn't agree more; she often regretted the fact that people were afraid of many things simply because they did not know how it worked. She took a sip of sweet wine, savoring the flavor as the warmth slid down her throat and further throughout her body that soaked it up like a sponge. Mistress al'Vere took hold of the ensuing pause to take a breath and start talking.

"Well, believe it or not, had you come here some five or six years ago, you would have found the Two Rivers in pretty much the shape you have just described: isolated backwater with no money or knowledge of outside happenings. We used to have been the type of people that did not care much of it, either."

Moiraine exchanged looks with Lan, and saw he shared her inner thoughts, too. The period Mistress al'Vere described just seemed too short for one region to prosper to such extent. She put down her drink and looked to the pair with intrigued look.

"So, you're saying that the arrival of refugees has driven your region into change and prospering?" she said, "new workers, new trades, new ideas?"

The Mayor and his wife exchanged a contemplating glance, then the Mayor turned to Moiraine. "Though that might be one of the reasons, we – or anyone else in the Two Rivers, for that matter – don't think it was the main cause. Sure, it has helped, as it has given us more work force, numerous craftsmen with new and diverse skills, and sure enough, the Two Rivers would not be what it is today without them."

The Mayor paused for a moment, thinking of how to explain a bit better, and his wife used the opportunity to continue. "Well, we cannot fully explain it ourselves, either," she said, "but it is most certainly because of the young lords. They are the ones that have truly led us to prosperity."

And there it was again.

"Yes," Moiraine spoke with casual tones, "your husband mentioned them just before you entered, but that was it. We were under the impression that the Two Rivers did not have any nobility. Who are they, if I may ask?"

Master al'Vere's smile broadened even more, "If there are persons that the Creator has blessed with inbred nobility, it would be the three young lords. They were of common birth, just like any native of the Two Rivers, but they have shown immense skills at leadership at a very young age." He chuckled, and looked to the distance, his face beaming. "I remember like it was yesterday: they were only fifteen, and they stood before the Village Council of Emond's Field, and managed to convince us all into trying new ways of increasing trade income for the village. I still don't quite know _why_ we listened to fifteen year old boys at all, but from that day on, everything went for the better."

He held a finger to his lips, contemplating for a moment. "I remember that quite soon after, they traveled on horseback to both Deven Ride and Watch Hill. Yes, yes… they even went all the way to Taren Ferry, talked to their respective Village Councils, and the next thing we knew, whole region begun prospering."

Moiraine looked to the Mayor sideways with a disbelieving smile, to which Mistress al'Vere spoke with a serious tone:

"I know how this must sound to you, Moirane Sedai: three boys speaking in front… no, _to_ the Council, and their words to be headed? I must say that even today, I still can barely believe it, and not a day goes by without me wondering how was it ever possible for us to listen to those young men. And not only listen; to _do_ as they had us do. But then I remember their presence; have you ever stood in front of a person whose very presence radiates this… overwhelming aura, that it simply feels natural to follow their lead? It is just like Bran said; like they were blessed with inbred nobility."

The pieces of the puzzle were sliding into place inside Moiraine's head. _Yes. Ta'veren._ But even though it might be the case, she still needed more information, so she just let her hosts talk.

"That aura of leadership begun manifesting in earnest once the refugees started to flock," Marin continued, "the young lords – well, we did not call them that at the time, not yet anyway – they were the ones that talked to Taraboners and Domani, and talked them into peaceful coexistence. Since then, there were no troubles between the two, whatsoever. Young lords have worked diligently to provide jobs for the refugees, so that us, Manetherens would help them as much as they would help us, not to mention the crafts they brought. It was hard at first – we're not denying it – but it's as if everything fell into place on its own, and we prospered."

"And it was not just thanks to the crafts and knowledge the _refugees_ brought," the Mayor interjected, "you remember I told you when they spoke in front of the Council of new ways to gain profit? Well, the lords have shown us ways of crafting machines that enabled us to increase our craft production hundred fold!"

"Machines?" Moiraine cocked her head in wonder. That very word was something few people used, or even knew what it represented. A word coming directly from the Old Tongue, the concept of which was foreign to all but the most educated scholars, and it tickled her interest as to what machines would they be talking about.

To answer her question Master al'Vere leaned over, his voice carrying importance and a hint of awe. "A steam machine. A miraculous contraption, if I may say so. It uses steam made by boiling water to propel pistons and wheels, which in turn can be used to move other machines. Why, you must've certainly noticed that huge chimney when you came to the town?" and he pointed his hand in the general direction," That's where the great steam machines are; lumber mill, flour mill and metal foundry are directly next to it, as it propels rotating saw blades and chisels in lumber mill, water pumps that provide running water to every home, even cranes and fans in "Luhhan and sons" metal foundry – that's where all of the weapons and armor for the army, as well as steel frames and beams for building construction are being made."

Lan did not actually gape in wonder. But his eyes were slightly wide, which was practically the same thing when it came to the man. He spoke before he could think. "You use steel for building frames?"

"Only a little," the Mayor said almost defensively, "some of the newer and larger buildings use a bit of steel along with wood in its frame construction, but it was only done with those buildings deemed important. Where we really used full steel frame is on our town's outer defense walls; they are enhanced with steel beams as thick as a man's leg," he finished proudly.

"For the love of Light," Lan blurted, "Where did you find that much iron? Not even Andoran mines near Baerlon can dig up that much."

"That," Master al'Vere said, "comes from our own mines in the Mountains of Mist, up the Quarry road, straight to the west."

He turned his head that way and Moiraine could read longing in his gaze. His voice carried a hint of burden in his chest:

"The Mountains were the prime source of our weapons, back in the Kingdom."

Moiraine needed no explanation that Master al'Vere referred to Manetheren. The strength and purity of their Old Blood was astonishing. Master al'Vere turned, his face returning to his old merry self.

"The entire mountain range from Amadicia to Arad Doman is laden with various ores," he said, "But the thing is that the richest veins are deeper underground than it is possible for your average miners to dig; compared to those veins, the mines of Andor are but a scratch of the surface. Well, that is where steam machine came of use yet again, by propelling mining drills and wagons to greatly increase extraction of ore. We also get stone and mortar from our quarries there. It is all transported down here, to Emond's Field on a regular basis."

The Mayor was speaking with great enthusiasm by now, like a peddler or a merchant that brought in the news of some far-off war, and Moiraine was indeed too interested and amazed at the story to bother with Lan's previous rude outburst. Truth be told, she was as much surprised as the man – especially of this "steam machine", whatever it was – but she refrained from saying anything. In fact, all she did so far was to listen. Listen and take note. That was the secret of her quick investigations: letting the people talk their hearts out. And the Mayor and his wife had unconsciously been more than forth giving in the knowledge of the Two Rivers. From what they told her, there was no remaining doubt in her mind that these three young men were indeed Ta'veren.

But there were three of them. Three! Born in what was once a small village. The Wheel weaves in mysterious ways. Be that as it may, she needed more groundwork. Listening only took her so far, but as she learned over the years, all it took is one small question to spur the conversation anew. One proper question. So what question should she pose to a proud Mayor of a prosperous town?_ Ah, yes._

"Do you trade your products abroad?" she asked casually as she put down the empty goblet, and reached out to take a piece of honey cake that was now cool enough to eat. She tore a soft, puffy piece and before she even brought it to her mouth, Master al'Vere started speaking with full enthusiasm.

"Why, yes," he said proudly, and begun gesturing with his arms, "we do export; and it's not just tabac and wool like we used to five years ago. Now it's also smith work, cloth, as well as vintage Tarabon and Domani craftwork."

He leaned forward and spoke in a bit more conspiring tone. "We've even begun exporting weapons from the Foundry. Limited amounts, though; it's not like we need gold that much, and they do seem to strike a high price. Why, a few crates of quality swords can reach a hefty sum among mercenary guards. Anyway," he abruptly returned to his cheerful demeanor, "we take all of our products to the port in Deven Ride, and ship it down Manetherendrelle, all the way to Illian. People there never asked any questions as to where we come from. For all they know, we're Andorans, and they might as well think we come from anywhere _but_ the Two Rivers – being that Manetherendrelle passes through all those other nations – and we don't feel the need to correct them, if you know what I mean." He laughed out loud, making his big, round belly jump up and down cheerfully.

"And there we come to that," Moiraine smiled thoughtfully. Her hosts looked at her with questioning looks. She explained:

"Here you are, living in a great town, in a prosperous province with its own armed corps, exporting your products, and yet… how is it possible that so few people in the outside world are aware of all this?"

Master and Mistress al'Vere turned to each other with a look of comprehension that said an unspoken "ah, yes". Moiraine continued.

"If I'm not mistaken, there are still merchants coming to and from the Two Rivers in order to buy wool and tabac. The trade has not stopped. Do not get me wrong; there _had_ been certain rumors. But whatever of the few that had managed to reach Andor was vague and unimportant at best. In fact, one could almost say that the merchants and their guards were reluctant to speak of it unless they were under the influence of a few cups of brandy. So tell me, what is your secret? Is it bribe? Or… _something_ else?"

Strangely enough, while she was speaking this, Moiraine did not feel her usual urge to expose some hidden plot that she could later use for her own games. Instead, she barely managed to contain the pleading tone in her voice, as if she was asking to be privy to some secret that needed to be kept. Mistress al'Vere's let out a rich laughter that she tried to stifle with her hand.

"Oh, Moiraine Sedai, you give us simple folk too much credit," she chuckled, "It was never our intention to keep the people out, or to make this some great big secret. True, there was a fortune in the fact that few people from the outside knew of us – no point in denying that – but it was only for the sake of keeping our fertile lands from the eyes and ears of the ones that would surely take advantage of our small community, such as thieves and brigands. Truth be told, now that we have our own little army to deter the miscreants, there is little point in hiding anything, anymore. But like I said: not like it was our intention in the first place."

"True," Moiraine concurred, her voice seemingly casual, offhanded; the voice she used to lead a person on. "But I suppose it is the lord's duty to take care of the… foreign affairs. If I was a sovereign, I would have probably taken an active role in preserving my interests by keeping some things a secret."

"Well, there was _some_ talk of that," Master al'Vere said thoughtfully, "but that was not the case here. What had happened was much more spontaneous and natural."

"What do you mean?" she asked. Master al'Vere leaned forward, crossing his fingers on top of the desk.

"Well, let's go a few years back," he said, "Imagine you are one of the merchants that regularly came here every season to trade tabac and wool. The first year, you would have seen nothing special – just your old Emond's Field, and other villages. True, there would seem to be a bit more houses than what you remembered from the year before, but villages grow. Right? So, the trades were made, and you left. A year later, you would come again. But this time, the village seemed to have grown quite a bit, near to the point that it can hardly be called a village anymore. When asked, the residents said that folk moved in from other villages or distant farms, because times were harsh, and they wanted safety from the wildlife. You might or might not have your suspicions about the explanation, but somewhere in the back of your mind you decide that you don't need the hassle; after all, worries of road brigands and wobbling market in the rest of the world are your true concerns. Why _should_ you care whether the village grows or not, as long as it makes you profit? So you simply go on to complete your trade and leave.

"One year later, you have returned to the Two Rivers. However, where once was a large settlement, now you find something that by all intents and purposes resembles a town! This time, you are confused. You see new and strange folk moving around, many new buildings under construction, shops and vendors. Yet, the profit in the trade of tabac and wool is still there – it has increased significantly, even – so you decide to count your blessings and take the profit. Now, if you were a peddler, it would be in your nature to spread the rumor of the prosperity of Two Rivers. However, once you reach Baerlon, you will not find the audience you were hoping to get. I'm sure you've noticed it by now, Moiraine Sedai, but the people of Baerlon have always thought of Two Rivers as "lower villages", considering themselves our peers. Not only that, but Baerlon is always full of miners who have never had any business or interest in the Two Rivers. Their mines are not in the Two Rivers; they are further North-West. In the end, the stories some peddler brought would be considered nothing but empty stories; perhaps ramblings of a drunkard. A merchant, however, is much more pragmatic than an ordinary peddler. It is their nature. They deal in great money, and spreading rumors is beneath them. Even their caravan guards would not take part in spreading rumors, since every merchant hires new guards every season, and probably none of them have ever been to Two Rivers before; for all they know, it was just some town like so many others they've seen. And if some of the guards spoke same things as you did, he too would be labeled drunkard.

"So, from that moment on, you – just like any other peddler or merchant that came to the Two Rivers – decide you don't need the trouble, let alone ridicule that could hurt your trading reputation, so you decide to keep your mouth shut on the rest of your journey. Of course, there might be nights in a tavern where you start speaking of the Two Rivers after a few drinks, but the people who listen to you couldn't care less of the Two Rivers. Why should they? It is hundred leagues away, and it certainly has nothing to do with their farms, cattle or a leaking roof! At best, people will think that the region of Two Rivers is doing well, and as much as the rumors go, when someone speaks of Two Rivers and mentions the rumor of prosperity, the best answer he might expect in return is: 'well, at least there will be enough tabac for our pipes'.

"One year later, the merchant will return to Two Rivers yet again. This time, he will find an even more prosperous region, and greater towns. But this time, he was expecting it. And also, he _knows_ that if he tries selling the story of how Emond's Field is now a great town, with paved streets and walls under construction, he will be declared madman. After all, how _could_ a village grow to be a town in a matter of few years? Why, something like that would be assumed senseless! And if something makes no sense, then surely, it must not be the way of things."

As Master al'Vere brought his narrative to a conclusion, both Moiraine found herself amazed at the possibility. Could it _really_ be that simple? Indeed, the way Mayor spoke of it made it seem the truth of things. She pondered it for a moment or two.

_Yes,_ she thought, _it just might be that simple. The world has entered hard times these past few years. People truly __are__ too busy with their own problems to take any consideration to whatever is happening somewhere far off. Even the Queen is faced with her own problems with political upheaval, not to mention White-bands in Caemlyn proper. The coincidences seem to have aligned themselves perfectly to allow the Two Rivers to remain undisturbed; maybe too perfectly. But… yes… if these Lords of the Two Rivers are Ta'veren, then the chances, coincidences and events were __forced__ to be aligned._

But she could not speak of this to them. Knowledgeable as they seem to be, she sensed that these people would probably not understand the finesse to the weaving of the Wheel or Ta'veren for that matter. They seemed good folk, capable entrepreneurs, but high theories? It just seemed too high-end for them, even though it may be wrapped in simplicity, such as the one Master al'Vere just spoke of.

"It truly is a plausible theory, Master al'Vere," she said, "I'm surprised that you have delved so deeply into the matter."

The Mayor chuckled. "Oh, it is not my theory, Moiraine Sedai."

"No?" she asked innocently.

"No, no. It is what I was told by Lord Rand, you see. It is he who gave that theory when somebody made the same question as you did earlier."

_Interesting!_ She thought enthusiastically as she enjoyed the delicious, puffy honey cakes, whose texture reminded her immensely of her native Cairhien pastries. Lan was wolfing them down mercilessly, for that matter, despite his usual fears that someone might poison their food. He must have been doing it unconsciously, then.

"So, these lords," she mused, "they still do well for the town?"

"For the whole of Manetheren, you mean," Mistress al'Vere corrected, "Yes they do. You see this unnatural winter? We would be having shortages, had they not urged us to preserve the excess food we made previous years, rather than selling it. Smart heads on their shoulders them three have. They have even done what one might think impossible: they have merged what was once Village Council and Women's Circle. Told us we fight too much – like two halves of the One Power – they did, and that we must work together for a change. Well, the women of the Council are still the heads when it comes to strictly women's issues, and men do not have any say there," she smiled, and looked to her husband, "The lords have not interfered with that; shows they really _do_ have good sense in those heads of theirs."

"So, I understand one of them is Lord Rand. Who are the others? You never mentioned their names," Moiraine said.

"Oh, right, silly me," Marin said, "Their names are Rand al'Thor, Matrim Cauthon and Perrin Aybara. All three live in the People's Palace."

"_People's_ Palace?" Moiraine wondered.

"Yes, lords have commissioned its construction," Bran said, "and it was constructed by the people, for the people. It is completely available for anyone to enter. You see, the People's Palace is actually a vast library made for the use of the people – as per Lord Rand's request – and he and other two lords have taken up their residence there."

"In fact," Marin interjected, "You should go there and meet them yourself. It is not proper for someone of your stature to stay at a mere Inn."

Moiraine smiled, and reached to touch Marin's hand. "Mistress al'Vere, your Inn was a noble's palace, as far as I am concerned. But I realize it would be very wrong of me to ignore prominent young figures such as your young lords. Indeed, they could use the guidance of an Aes Sedai, and I would very much like to meet them."

"Well, all three are in Emond's Field today," the Mayor said, "Once a week or so, they visit other towns, but not today."

As he said that, a light knock came on the door, and a moment later one of the serving girls entered.

"Pardon me for interrupting," she said, "but members of the Council have started to congregate."

"Oh, I have completely forgotten," the Mayor said, "today is a Council meeting! And for a moment there I was wondering why I was wearing my good clothes. But goodness, they've come early!"

"You have your meetings here, at your Inn?" Moiraine asked. It was a bit strange from her point of view.

"Ah, yes," Mayor said, "It had been customary for a Council to be held at the Council Head's house when Emond's Field was still village. We felt no need to change things."

Moiraine and Lan had finished with their honeycakes by then. She removed the cat from her lap and stood up. "Then we should not keep you any longer," she said, "I'm sure you have plenty of important business to attend to."

"It was not trouble, Moiraine Sedai," he said, hurriedly, "In fact, I'm sure the rest of the Council would be overjoyed at the opportunity to meet you. If I'm not mistaken, they have come early today just for that occasion."

The Mayor and his wife led Moiraine and Lan to the common room, the cat following in Moiraine's footsteps. They were greeted with twenty-some men and women, all dressed in fine clothing similar to one that were worn by Master and Mistress al'Vere. Moiraine could easily see that all of the Council members were native Two River folk, with their chestnut-colored eyes and graying chestnut hair, along with women that wore their hair in one long braid. They were all looking at Moiraine and Lan with a mix of awe and excitement, but smile creased every Council member's face. Master al'Vere introduced them all in turn to Moiraine, where men gave bows from their waist, while women curtsied.

Formal greetings were not foreign to Moiraine; she had visited courts and noble's houses of Cairhien, Caemlyn, Illian, as well as many others, and being Aes Sedai, as well as true high-born lady whose house once held the throne of Cairhien, she was given all honor her stature possessed. But everywhere she went there was underlying fear, superstition and even hidden disgust directed at her, though never voiced. Everywhere, but here, that is. She had a distinct sensation that these people were looking at her like someone that was a part of them, like a precious thing long lost, now returned. She figured it must be Manetheren Old Blood, whose sovereigns had always been Aes Sedai as a queen, and her Warder as their king. Well, whatever the reason was, it felt good, and Lan must have sensed it from her. He in turn had expressed his desire to visit the foundries, and Master Haral Luhhan – a huge man with arms as big as a man's leg, who happened to be a member of the Council – heartily welcomed him to do so.

"Well, now," Master al'Vere said, "that was our Council. Apparently, they have hurried to get here as soon as the word spread of there being an Aes Sedai in our town, and as a result, not all members are here. The ones missing are Tam and Kari al'Thor. As it is, we'll have to wait for them."

Mistress al'Vere leaned to Moiraine. "They are the parents of Rand al'Thor, one of our lords. They live on an estate a few hours ride up the Quarry Road, so it takes a bit of time for them to get here. I suggest you do not wait for them; once the meeting is finished here, they will go and visit their son in the Palace, so you can meet them there."

Moiraine gave a slight nod, after which she and Lan left the Inn, closely followed by the Mayor and his wife. It was almost noon by that time, and the Green was at its peak when it came to the number of people there. It was then that Master al'Vere called one of his boys with instructions to take Moiraine and Lan to the Palace, where she could meet the lords of Manetheren. Without wasting any further time, the two wished their goodbyes to the friendly Mayor and his wife.

Moiraine felt that it is time to steel her will. She was about to meet these lords of Two Rivers, and she had to see for herself just who these young men were. Her thoughts were filled with possible scenarios. It all spun around them being Ta'veren, though. It would be foolish to approach them without taking that particular thing into consideration, and also the fact that it might very well have been them that have brought prosperity for the Emond's Field. Still, they were just boys. There was no doubt in her mind she could find her way around them.

"You seem quite taken with these people," Lan leaned over to Moiraine as they slowly followed the boy toward the wide stone bridge that passed over the Winespring creek. He could easily sense her emotions through their bond, and though the fluttery sensation in her stomach did not reach him directly, he was more than aware of her anxiousness.

"Indeed, no point in hiding it," she said, "Other than Tar Valon, I have never been so welcomed anywhere else. And even there, when among my sisters, I always had to play the _Daes'daemar_ for one reason or another, but these people give off a completely different aura."

Lan took a breath, looking around to see if anyone was listening in. Other than the now-usual curious glances, nobody tried to approach them. Good. It should stay that way as far as he was concerned.

"I know these 'young lords' are Ta'veren; that much is obvious," he said at last, "but what do you think _of_ them? Do you think they are some spoilt brats with all this 'young lord' belief?"

"I must be open to all possibilities," she voiced her inner thoughts in a lowered voice. "Truly, one might think they are spoiled if they think they deserve the titles as a given. But I also understand they are young – no more than twenty, and it's very likely the one we are searching for is one of them – so it is very likely the love for their home has made them help these folk transform their village into a great, prosperous town. And that leads me to believe they are just boys the Wheel has weaved the way it pleased. It is believed that Ta'veren have little will of their own, apart from the one Wheel weaves for them; they might have simply unwillingly found themselves as leader figures of this region without knowing what to do. Believe it or not if you will, but I feel it is precisely _that_ that will make it easy for me to install myself as their advisor, thus guiding them the way we need them to."

Lan suddenly took her by the shoulder and turned her toward him. "Moiraine, I know of Ta'veren as much as you do," he said with concern, then spread his hands and pointed in general direction, "but _this_, is not just Ta'veren at work. It simply cannot be."

"What do you mean?" she asked, feeling his agitation.

"You heard the Mayor," he whispered, "he spoke of 'new machines' and weapons that these young men have _provided_. The amount of ore they would need to extract in order to build it into their walls is staggering. No simple tool can do that, Moiraine. It's simply strange, and it isn't my usual mistrust. What if…" he trailed off.

She placed a hand on his forearm. "Whatever it is," she said serenely, "You know you can say it to me directly."

Lan looked her in the eyes, then lowered his voice even more. "What if it is the One Power they wield? Or a ter'angreal?"

Moiraine twitched at the last. She looked at him for a moment, then returned to slowly follow the boy who had stopped a few steps away, waiting for them. "We'll see, Lan," she said, "That's all we can do for the time being. If it's one of them channeling, then he's the one. If not, we'll improvise like we always did in these situations for all those years."

Lan growled silently. At any other time Moiraine would smile at his reaction; but this time, she had to hold reign over concerns of her own. What if none of them is the Dragon Reborn? Would all of the years she spent in her search be for naught? She would have to plan anew. She would _have_ to adapt. Then again, what if one of them truly _is_ the Dragon? Somehow she dreaded the thought even more; for all of her twenty years of planning, she had never given any thought on what to do next.

_Light! What __do__ I do when I finally meet him?_ She thought.


	4. Chapter 3: The Three Overlords

_**Author's note:**_

_**-This is edited version of the chapter 4, which was previously posted 9.13.2012, then underwent revision and reposted a week later on 9.20.2012.**_

_I apologize for editing and reposting this chapter to all of you who have already read the first version. I feel pretty much embarrassed with myself, but it was necessary, because I had unwittingly made a mistake I did not want to make concerning the Three Oaths. For some reason I had assumed the oaths are rather secret to the rest of the world, so that part of the chapter had to be changed, as a number of people were right to state it as a flaw. Basically, it is the only part corrected, and the story was accordingly changed in that area. The changed part represents only the final fifth of the chapter. I hope that the way in which I had changed it is satisfactory to all of you. Also, note, that the general course of the story is not changed, and that save for a few minor facts and different occurrences (which will be emphasized in the subsequent chapter's entry Notes) this edit makes no big difference on the long run of the story._

_I know it's been a while and that you'd prefer to read chapters at a bit shorter intervals, but I prefer to make a decent chapter that everyone can enjoy, rather than something only mediocre. And since I have that flaw of being a perfectionist (sounds weird, I know), there is no way I would publish anything less than what I would be satisfied to read myself. And this chapter, believe me, was HARD. It's one of the hardest ones I'd ever have to make. Not for the lack of inspiration. It's because I was forming the personalities of the three most powerful men that are supposed to hold the faith of the entire Universe in their hands. I do not know how you like to imagine Rand al'Thor or Perrin Aybara, how you see them, nor what you want them to be like. This is what I feel they need to be like. To that end, I offer you 20701 words, my rant not included. And still, having 20k words was far from enough to explain some of the things that were said or hinted in the previous chapters. It'll come, don't worry._

_As for your reviews, a couple of them were really helpful. One of them in particular, by __**Amber**__ concerning units of measurement; because WOT uses different measurements than usual modern-day stuff, so in order to avoid future confusion I've decided to use imperial units (feet, inches, etc). As for the language used, I will not apologize for using some modern-day colloquialisms here and there, though I did my best not to overdo it, and for them to be used only by certain few. I aim for mature themes, and certain things simply sound better with those words used; it just goes with my style._

_**DISCLAIMER:**__ I do not own Wheel of Time or any of its characters._

_Enjoy…_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter 3 – The three overlords<strong>_

The interior of the People's Palace was vast. Huge, even; or at least, that's what it appeared to be. And it was alive. There must have been over a hundred people present within – reading, studying, searching for the points of their interest along the vast bookshelves of the libraries – all the while their voices being dispersed, and turned into ever-present low wind-like hum by the masterfully designed interior. The high windows provided ample natural illumination, such that light reached and bathed all but few of the most secluded corners and alcoves. None of that concerned Calen in the slightest bit, though. Though the light this place provided was ample, he could have been but a shadow one stepped by, not giving it a first, let alone a second glance. Light footsteps in leather moccasins, and inconspicuous cloak and garment made him virtually invisible as he glided across the floor of the grand hall, sliding around and between groups of moving folk like a silken scarf. And he was not even trying. He went directly toward the Southern Wing, the one which was closed to public. The guards noticed him only when he was right in front of them, passing them by at a fast pace. They did not even turn to confirm who it was; only one of the Spooks – as was the nickname they gave them – could reach that far unnoticed.

Calen strode down the long corridor, swerving only slightly between the columns when he noticed shadows moving from one of the broad doorways. He stood in a wall indent, unmoving like a hooded statue. He pricked up his ears for a moment, listening to the conversation of the two young women that walked out into the corridor. They were what Two River's dubbed Wisdoms, a couple of dozen young women that had their unofficial headquarters here, in the South Wing of the Palace. But he knew them for what they really were; after all, it was in his job description to be the one of the selected few who did. The words like _saidar_, 'weave' and 'channel', marked these particular girls for what they really were. The channelers. The women of myths, legends, fear and awe. Yet, even though he was aware of the stories that abound of this kind of women – or more specifically, the real Aes Sedai that roamed the world – he knew enough to know what they were _really_ capable of. And he _knew_ they had the ability to notice many of the previously unseen details by simply being able to grasp the Source.

Yet, they passed not three feet from him, never noticing him. He walked out of his hiding a few moments later, and resumed his walk. There was no gloat in him for remaining unnoticed; it was serious business for him. People's eyes could see but an area of a coin in front of them with precision, and they tended to disregard the peripheral, unless they were trained, and unless it was their job. The channelers of the South Wing did not have that job. _He_ did. And his life depended on it often enough.

He was member of the _Ean Sathei_, the Ever Vigil Ones, or Spooks, how some have called them due to their uncanny habit of seemingly appearing out of nowhere. Calen, in particular preferred to approach from behind one's back; it tended to make the twin knives at his belt find their target easier. Kidneys for the most part. Not that he had real use of them recently. He was the Head Coordinator, actually – hence the 'Chief Spook' – and he and his men waged war that few were even aware it existed. And the battlegrounds? Information, information and information. Oh yeah, and an occasional disinformation, too. The reason why he was here now, though, was the former.

He passed through the Southern Hall, through the anteroom, and into the vast terraced gardens in the back of the palace. Green. It was the first thing that came to mind. Green that surrounded white marble columns and archways that could be seen across the garden. Even though this bloody winter managed to kill off most of the nature's beauty, this place has managed to remain green. And he knew that that was the doing of channelers. Not that it was a bad thing; channelers were helpful. They tended to be just that quite often. And he liked green. Green was good. And peaceful. And it helped him be unseen. What he didn't like was the still present cold. Ignoring it took one only so far.

The broad paved path led between the meticulously trimmed boxwood hedgerows that separated the small yards, each of which made and arranged so that the users of the Palace's library could go out if the weather was nice enough. He, however, did not waste time searching the yards. He made his way directly to the far side of the garden, where he knew he would find the one he needed to pass the information to; his overlord. A few moments later, his keen ears heard it: the rhythmic pacing and thumping of feet, and an occasional whoosh through the air. Swordplay. He slowed down, making himself extra quiet, and approached the entrance like a stalking mountain lion, the muscles of his arms and fingers almost instinctively coiling like a spring, striving for the handle of his long knife. He peered.

Flashes of twirling blade. Slash-thrust-uppercut, spin-slash-parry, deflect-step-in-uppercut. Then backstep-deflect-feint-cut-twist-step-in-backstab-kill.

It was damn beautiful. Perfection.

The tall figure near the middle of the large courtyard, slowed to a still stance. He was bared down to his waist, in a semi-crouching position and turned sideways from where Calen was standing. His left arm was outstretched, palm in a halting motion; the right hand held the slightly curved sword in a reverse grip, like a bladed wing, ready to lash out and cut. All the muscles of the man's torso were taut, the sinewy ripples accentuating the agility of the powerful musculature. His skin was glistening with sweat, and Calen could actually _see_ the wisps of vapor rising from his arms and shoulders, almost resembling the whirling smoke of tabac.

Every muscle, every fiber, the tiniest hair – _all_ about the man screamed 'blade'.

Yet, for all the icy creep of the deadly stance that now stood before him, Calen's mind was strangely at peace at the sight. Mere moments he stood there that seemed like eternity, until a he heard a loud, long and controlled exhale that thrust a substantial cloud of vapor out of the man lungs. Only then did Calen sense his own body relaxing.

Well, he might as well come out now. There _was_ a report to be given. But before he even managed to shift his weight in order to step forward, he was put off by a deep voice that reverberated into his own chest.

"Yes, Calen?"

Those were all the words that came from the man in the courtyard, but it was enough to completely unbalance the Spook.

_**How**__, in the bloody world, does he __**always**__ do that?_ Calen screamed inside. The man wasn't even turned to look his way! How did he always know if someone was hiding near him? It wasn't the surprise – it has happened often enough that he got used to it – but Calen wanted to _know_. He wanted to know whatever could be known.

"Go on," the voice gently prodded, "ask me."

"It would be unprofessional." Calen stated simply.

A healthy chuckle was the answer he got. "Does it unnerve you?"

"Somewhat. But like I said, it would be unprofessional to complain." Calen shrugged without saying another word. Rand al'Thor, Overlord of Manetheren turned, and Calen was greeted by a pair of radiant steel blue eyes that smiled back at him.

"And it would be quite time-consuming for me to explain it to you, all things considered. I hope you don't take offence, despite your desire to know things."

He gently wiped the sword with a piece of cloth, an action more made of reflex than an actual need, giving the heron mark on it a twice-over, before sheeting it soundlessly into a pitch black scabbard marked with a golden heron. He turned to Calen and said:

"Now, if you boil inside like that, imagine how Egwene felt whenever I did that to _her_ if she was being particularly... unreasonable."

Calen contained a burst of laughter and just sniffed in amusement, instead.

"Well, it is my understanding that Miss Egwene is now past that kind of behavior," he said.

"That, she is. She began using her own brain to solve her own problems; and to further expand on what she already knows. She has grown… and became invaluable to Manetheren. I must say I miss yanking her chain, but it would be most ungrateful if a student were to remain a student forever."

He sighed and begun toweling himself off before speaking, and his voice turned more serious.

"But back to the matter at hand; you have something for me."

Calen turned all business. "I wouldn't be here otherwise," he said, then took out a folded sheet of paper and handed it over. Rand unfolded it and read the news carefully.

"So... Logain has been caught by the Aes Sedai's task force," he stated. "And if the information is correct, this was four weeks ago. I'm impressed; it's quite an improvement in your information network."

"Thank you, sir, I try," he smiled.

"Where would you guess they are now?"

"They are traveling slowly. They have no choice: the intel suggests they are holding him in a large cage mounted on a horse cart, and that they have four Aes Sedai that are – and I quote – watching him without blinking at any given moment. So, based on that, I would say they are somewhere near the Altara-Murandy border. The unconfirmed rumor is to take him to be displayed publically in Lugard, then Caemlyn –"

Calen shut his mouth right then and there. There was a distinct and quite intimidating shift on his overlord's face; he was furious.

"Display him, huh?" he said, more for himself.

"It is an unconfirmed rumor, sir –"

Rand waved him of. "It's alright, Calen. You don't need to explain, and you don't need to worry about me." He took a calming breath. "Are there any more news?"

"Nothing more on Logain, though the Aes Sedai and her Warder that came to Manetheren via Tarren Fort have reached Emond's Field this morning. They came through the Northern Gate not half an hour ago."

Rand's eyes gained a focused quality Calen became used to seeing when there were important matters at hand. The tall man dropped the towel on the table top, and leaned against it.

"So, one of them is finally here," he spoke gravely, then turned to Calen. "And tell me, how did their arrival go?"

"People were most intrigued in a positive way. They actually crowded a bit to see her. Many craned necks, too. From what I could see from my position on the rooftops, both Aes Sedai and her Warder were pretty much impressed by Emond's Field. They tried hiding it, of course, but I can read faces; even the ones as… serene as Aes Sedai's."

"And are you sure you were not spotted?" Rand asked as he begun dressing up.

"It is possible that the Warder _might_ have picked up a whiff of me, but if that truly is the case, I am certain he did not know exactly what is it that he sensed. I do take great pride in my stealth, sir; I would feel like I've betrayed my own abilities, otherwise.

Rand nodded in recognition.

"Anyway," Calen continued, "They stumbled into those two will-be-gleemen, Ewin and Conal, then ended up at Bran's place, and if I know Bran, he'll be spilling the beans with all the eagerness of a proud Mayor. Heh… too bad that snowstorm from two months ago took down Town Hall's rooftop. He would more proud if he could show-off the official Council chambers had the whole building not require major repairs."

He stopped there for a moment, and looked ponderously at his lord.

"If I may ask, sir, was it _really_ such a good idea to openly tell Bran _not_ to hide _anything_ concerning Emond's Field? I know that he interpreted it as a go-ahead for bragging."

"It could not be helped," Rand said, as he pulled a vest over his shirt. "If these Aes Sedai of today are _anything_ like Aes Sedai of the Age of Legends, then lying would be futile in more ways than one, not to mention potentially counterproductive, especially since I believe that all those stories of Aes Sedai contain a seed of truth to them. Even if she did not simply use One Power to spin a mind-reading weave and read Bran like an open book, any real Aes Sedai should be more than capable of discerning on whether she is being lied or not by simply paying attention to another person's face. And Bran is a much too simple man to hide his facial features like that. A good merchant? Certainly. A good Mayor? Absolutely!" he paused and looked intently at Calen. "But he is _not_ capable of lying to Aes Sedai. If she has any worth, she would have discerned she was being led around, and it would complicate things. No. This way is the best."

A moment of silence.

"I fully understand that, sir," Calen said, "but I assure you, the real reason why I asked you this is not because of my nature to keep certain things undisclosed."

Rand rose to his full height, towering over Calen, who in his own right was not short at all.

"You are concerned," Rand stated, "Is it for the South Wing? Or the Basement? You know that Bran does not know of the existence of either. There are only thirty-two people in the whole world that know of what either of it truly is, you and me included, and _all_ can be trusted."

Calen chuckled. "Then why do I have a nagging feeling that number will soon be thirty-four?"

Rand paused. "If everything goes well, then, yes."

"And who is the one that needs to spend all the time doing the decent cover-up? Me." He chuckled, then sighed. "But no, it is not the Basement I'm worried about. I'm aware Bran is unaware of its existence, and I'm aware that this Aes Sedai could not gain access to it, even if she were to stumble upon it and know the entrance it for what it is. No, I am concerned of the more… earthly things. Such as the steam machine, and _cannons_."

"Oh?" Rand smiled.

Calen dropped the hood of his cloak for the first time and ran his fingers through his hair. Though he was barely thirty, he sported grays here and there.

"It's just that those machines are something our nation would not be able to rise without, sire. It gives us and edge. And what an edge! I cannot be sure as to the motivation of this Aes Sedai, or of any Aes Sedai, for that matter. I will _not_ allow our nation's secrets to fall into the wrong hands."

The last sentence was spoken with such conviction that even Calen ended up wondering where that passion ever came from. Rand stepped forward, placed his right hand on Calen's shoulder and shook it.

"Do not, worry, my friend," he said, "it will not come to that. One way or the other I'll make sure of it. Now, tell me of this Aes Sedai. Tell me everything you can about her."

"Of course, sir. However, if there is one thing I may ask of you?"

"Yes?"

"Can we get away from this bloody chill?"

Rand chuckled. "Oh, I think we can do something about that."

* * *

><p>The noise the likeness of the one she found in Emond's Field was something Moiraine did not hear in a long time. It was probably an hour past noon when she and Lan left the Winespring Inn, and the town seemed to have reached the peak of its activity. Noise and rush seemed to permeate everything. She could hear the clatter of cart wheels, horseshoes, ox hooves and barrels being rolled down the cobblestones. Echoes of salesmen yelling and praising their goods reached them from the bustling marketplace, only to be overshadowed by echoes of customers yells, and among them the pouty screams and wails of small children seeking attention just to add to the overall cacophony. Moiraine was dizzy in an instant. And it was not helped in the least by the fact that the thin cloud covering seemed to have dissipated, and high from the azure sky, Sun bathed the whole countryside with the full glory of its blinding glow. It took her a moment to adjust to the shear contrast of the blue, green, white, and not to mention many others of the town's colors. Through the disorienting blindness she sensed a strong hand enveloping her upper arm, holding her firmly in place. She looked up to find Lan's concerned face looking down at her.<p>

"I'm alright," she said. "It must be because of the wine I drank inside. All this activity must've caught me off guard, as well."

"I know. It's been a while we've seen its like. Not since Caemlyn, I think."

He let go of her arm, then followed her through a couple of first steps to see she was sure on her legs. He needn't worry. Moiraine's eyes and attention were quickly taken by the liveliness of the Green, and the many children of various ages that played on the lush grass with a stuffed ball. Lan could sense her emotions clearly. He couldn't blame her. After the winter – that not only inherently made days short and nights long, but also had seemed to drain away light itself and dull down whatever was left – he was all too glad to see his friend basking in the Sun; for all her pale and sensitive complexion, Moiraine loved the Sun. Truth be told, he too, was amazed by the sudden burst of vivid colors brought on by the light. Though the cold wind still blew, the shivering chill that snaked its way under their clothes had seemed to have lost all of its edge, and for the first time in a long while, he could sense the tingling of his blood that surged just under his skin.

"My. It _is_ beautiful, isn't it?" she said, as they walked across the Green, following Master al'Vere's stableman that led them toward the Palace.

"It truly is," Lan responded. "I don't remember seeing nearly as many smiling faces in Caemlyn, and we were there not a month ago."

"Caemlyn has its own problems," she sighed, "but it's not that bad. At least the city is clean, the food is not in that short a supply, and the streets are safe… all things considered. It's not nearly as bad as Baerlon, which – considering it's only a week's ride away from here – is worse than depressing."

Her voice carried a hint of disgust in it, and Lan knew it had more to do than with the physical state of that town. He cast a seemingly casual glance across the Green and the milling crowds before speaking.

"True, the people in Baerlon almost seem to have lost hope," he said. "The town is full of grumpy miners, disgruntled townsfolk, drunkards, swindlers and thieves. The streets are muddy, reek of feces, and whatever children one can see are keeping themselves away from the eyes of the grownups. Heh; not to mention the fact that they don't like Aes Sedai. This place, however, is clean. Healthy. Happy. It almost makes you feel like you're in a place where nothing could go wrong."

Moiraine cast him a wry look. "I _thought_ you seem to have dropped your guard," then she changed her voice and accent to a deeper tone. "Be aware, Lan, that Warder must not abandon his duties, especially if everything seems right."

It was all Lan could do not to stiffen at her imitation of Hammar, the trainer of Warders in the White Tower. It was not her imitation of the voice that got him, but the accent that imitated Hammar's down to the syllable. Not to mention the fact that she somehow managed to convey serious demeanor through their bond. _Me? Abandon my duties?_ Was his subconscious thought, and Moiraine could see a noticeable shift in his stance. She giggled under her breath and beamed at him.

"Relax, Lan," she held to his forearm, and looked up in amusement. "I was only jesting."

The flutter of amusement surged toward him through their bond, and Lan looked down at her. His eyes smiled; but he did not relax his stance.

"You are an amazing actor, you know," he said. "No wonder you are such a marvelous player of _Daes dae'mar_. You speak almost as if you believe it to be truth."

"Well, I cannot act," she said wryly, "that's one step away from lies. But, every thought in one's mind can be subject to bending around the oath. By focusing on many thoughts at once, and sifting through them, one can find all of the suitable answers to all of the unsuitable questions. One needs a strong mind for that. I cannot teach anyone how to do it."

They were crossing the stone bridge at that point, the clear Winespring stream churning underneath. The gurgle of the gushing water dulled their thoughts, and for a moment, Moiraine was all too happy to surrender her mind to the blissful nirvana that enveloped her. There, the tranquil river of _saidar_ beckoned her. Lan's voice brought her back.

"The question is, will your skill be enough against three Ta'veren?" he said.

She was silent for a moment. She looked forward toward to Master al'Vere's stable boy that led them. He respectfully kept his distance in front of them, to give them privacy. She could speak quietly, and the youth would not be able to hear them, but Moiraine would not leave it to chance. She quickly spun a weave of air around her and Lan, creating a simple sound-buffering barrier around them. Sounds of busy town square were suddenly muffled, as if heard through thick layer of wool; nobody from outside could hear their conversation, now.

"Ta'veren is not omnipotent, Lan," Moiraine said with an air of superior conviction, and turned to him with a piercing look in her eyes. "Far from it, in fact. It is known a Ta'veren is nothing but a tool, something to be used by the Wheel. And they don't have any more say in it than candle does over the wick of its own flame. True, it is known that when in Arthur Hawkwing's presence, people tended to blurt out things that they would have never spoken out loud otherwise, but that does not mean Arthur had any control over it."

"Then all of this..." he motioned across the town.

"All that is just how the Wheel willed these boys to do. And yes, they are just boys. I have no doubt that we are dealing with three seemingly ordinary boys that have found themselves in the midst of strange things happening around them. I think they were quite stupefied themselves by the things that were happening around them and to them, and for a lack of a better thing to do, they simply went with the flow. Perhaps they were uncomfortable at the beginning, but the more things settle in, the more the person relaxes and takes it for granted. Even more so if the person is young."

By this point, her analytical mind was in full swing, and Lan need only listen as she spoke.

"Since they are young," she continued, "I am quite sure that their heads are filled with stories of adventure, heroes, and glory to be attained. Also, since they have been chosen as nobility at such a young age by these folk, I believe they have had quite enough time to become pampered and spoiled to a certain extent, and to believe they are entitled to some things. And lust for power does not go far behind. They are men after all; they tend to develop a very strong ego. After all, they never had any advisers to guide them, unlike any true nobleman. Flattery is a card I can use with them. If they are like any other young men, then promise of future glory is what I could use as well."

"But it doesn't add up, Moiraine," Lan interrupted.

"What do you mean?"

"Remember that Master al'Vere said it was those three boys – fifteen year-old _boys_, Moiraine – that proposed new trading methods, showed them how to build new machines, solved the conflict between Taraboners and Domani…" he looked down at her, "Correct me if I'm wrong, but that is _not_ something a rash, impetuous and spoiled boys can do, Ta'veren or not."

"Indeed," she smiled, her voice radiating amusement. She then turned her Aes Sedai gaze to him, and the steel in her silky voice became even sharper. "But I don't think they have done a tenth of the things these people attribute them."

Lan did not shift his stony face, did not twitch a muscle. He waited for her to explain, and that stony gaze of his, along with patient intensity of his inner desire to know drove her to roll her eyes in amusement, and elaborate.

"Master al'Vere said they proposed new trading methods," she stated, " but I believe the boys just gave a few obvious, yet at-the-time overlooked ideas that were appealing to their village Council, who used those ideas to build on them more, and due to Ta'veren effect attributed it _all_ to the unwitting boys. Master al'Vere said they showed them how to build machines? Well, an imagination of a young mind is immensely powerful. I'm sure they got an idea or two from there, and while looking over the town craftsmen's work they managed to point out some interesting ways of applying it, again Ta'veren effect being responsible for those ideas to be accepted and thus all earnings being attributed to them. As for the solved conflicts between Taraboners and Domani, well, I believe _that_ was entirely thanks to Ta'veren effect. You know people tend to bend their way to it, and I'm sure that a simple 'please, stop fighting' from these boys was enough for these people to do the trick."

Lan was silent for a moment. "You make it all sound so simple," he said at last, "but I'm not so sure it might be."

"Oh, don't tell me you think they truly managed to gain some lost knowledge, do you Lan?" Moiraine closed her eyes and shook her head gently. "That kind of thing is impossible. Even if by some strange coincidence they have managed to find something, some artifact, a remnant of the Age of Legends or even old Manetheren, they would not know how to use it."

"No, I was not referring to that." he retorted, and then spoke even more quietly, even though nobody could possibly hear him behind Moiraine's weave. "Remember, one of them might very well be the Dragon Reborn. And if he already channels, then things might get _very_ complicated."

"If that is the case," she said after a short pause, not losing any conviction, "then I'm sure that he is quite confused and scared out of his life. It might even be possible that he is desperate for help. Any help. If that help comes from an expert, someone who convinces him she is really here to help, then all the better. And if by chance he gets rebellious, I'm sure I could handle it. There is no way that any kind of channeler, male or female, could learn so much in the few years since – and if – he begun channeling, without the help of another, skilled channeler; and there are no such here. If, by some strange turn of events he does indeed channel, I'm sure he does not know what he's doing. If he doesn't know the weaves, he is harmless, no matter the strength. Hm... Now that I think on it..."

"What?"

"Well, just now when I said he might be scared out of his life, an idea occurred to me. Tell me, Lan, how do you think Andor would react if they were to find out there is a region within their own kingdom that claimed its own name, sovereignty and standard?"

"Well, of course, Andor would be _very_ displeased if it knew of what's going on in the Two Rivers," her responded. "They would send an army to quell what they would surely interpret as a rebellion, no doubt about it... if they didn't have to be _very_ careful where they send their troops now when they have internal strife in Capital. Why do you ask?"

"And if they decided it had to be done," Moiraine ignored his question, pursuing her train of thought, planning long ahead, "how many troops would Andor send?"

"They have about twenty thousand in reserve, so I would guess no less than that."

"And how much do you reckon the Two Rivers has?"

"Around five, maybe six. Moiraine? What are you thinking?"

Her lips curled into a mysterious smile Lan knew so well.

"I think," she said, "that these boys have been given a piece of a cupcake of power, and they went for it without knowing or realizing the consequences of what it would mean on the grand scale. Like I said, Lan: if _someone_ were to... point it out to them in no uncertain terms what they might face, I have a distinct feeling they would be scared out of their wits. And they would be desperate for any kind of help."

"You're going to kindle their fears." Lan stated. He pondered it all for a while, then decided. "You're cruel."

Moiraine shrugged. "I would only tell the truth. Truth is cruel, but it is the truth, and it serves our purpose, which is all that matters," she said, and removed the weave against eavesdropping.

As they approached the southern edge of the Green, they could clearly see the location of the People's Palace. It was erected on what was once a hillock, but was flattened into a wide, elevated area – some fifteen feet high, its vertical sides walled for support – and on top of it was a six feet tall iron fence, with steel spikes on top. The main entrance was up the pair of wide stairs that wound around a large fountain, hugging it in their midst. It was there, once they have started climbing, that Moiraine sensed a familiar feeling of _saidar_ being channeled and weaves being made some distance away in front of her. All of her alert bells started tolling, and she instinctively embraced _saidar_ herself, but she managed to keep the amount discreet, so it is not detected by another. Who could it be? She wondered. They reached the top of the stairs, where they were welcomed by a grand courtyard that even in this frigid, dead spring showed it was meticulously maintained. The lush greenery throughout the courtyard was a tell-tale sign to Moiraine that someone was using channeling to help plants grow in this merciless weather.

And straight down the wide paved path was the Palace. It was a building unlike any Moiraine had ever seen. And it was not a small one, either. The architecture was something altogether different from what she had seen in any other part of the world. The prominent central section of the building, from which east and west wing spanned to the sides, was a rotunda – a vast circular base, cylindrical all around – and crowned with a huge copper dome on top. It had a number of narrow and very tall windows that spanned all the way from the bottom up to the domed roof, ending with a spike that crossed the dome's edge, giving it a jagged look of a true crown. The wings that spanned from that central section ended with other, though smaller domes, quite similar to the big one.

On the whole, the Palace looked as if it grew out of the ground, rather than being built. Though there were plenty of sharp and spiked edges, every single one of them seemed to flow into one another through gentle curves. Columns, arches and terraces along the walls seemed to accentuate that, giving it a form of unique aesthetic beauty; an intimidating beauty of a resting beast. Yet for all that, it was even more appealing and alluring.

"Impressive," Lan said with a rare hint of awe in his voice.

Moiraine couldn't agree more. Few buildings in this world could inspire such awe, like the White Tower or the Stone of Tear could. This palace was far smaller than either of them, but there was something in its architecture that just made it… stunning. She had to force herself to break her gaze, lest she remain there like she did when she was sixteen at seeing the White Tower for the first time. But for the life of her, she couldn't tell where these people found architectural inspiration to build something like this. No other palace or villa she had seen in the rest of the world had had architecture similar to this one. Of course, one _could_ find something that resembles Tarabon building style, or Domani, or Altaran, but it was only small parts. Had it been some kind of meld of several styles, it would stick out, and the building would seem just a patchwork of styles. Not here, though. It was an original work in its whole.

It was then that she refocused her attention to the glow of _saidar_ coming somewhere from within the Palace. Could it be another sister? Impossible! No other sister would have any reason to come to Two Rivers, whatsoever. She and Siuan were probably the only two to take interest in it in the last century, and only Moiraine herself was here now, which meant only one thing: Wilders. Plural. There were several sources inside, she could feel it. And some of them were very powerful. Maybe even more powerful than she was. A clear thought crossed her mind. _The Old Blood must run pure and strong here._ That must explain the strong concentration of Wilders. And Ta'veren effect, too, must be considerably responsible for it. She would have to meet those women.

Turning her attention back toward the courtyard, she saw plenty of people moving about, but her attention was quickly caught by two men walking down the path toward them from the direction of the palace. She could sense Lan's attention was on them, too, as both men seemed to be soldiers of some kind. And most peculiar soldiers, at that, for it was not ordinary armor they wore. Sure, it resembled standard Manetheren segmented plate armor they had seen on Manetheren soldiers previously, but a few important differences made it look completely different as a whole. For one, their armor was completely _black_. The edges of armor plates, shoulder pauldrons, vambraces, as well as the visor and edges of their _winged_ helmets were accentuated with _gold_-trimming. It was the most eye-catching contrast: the thin, shining lines of gold being strongly contrasted by the shear blackness of the plate, and focusing the viewer's attention to a pair of golden lightning in the middle of their chest. Needless to say, it stood out.

But it was not all that caught Moiraine's attention, however. It was the way they looked at her when they passed them by. They halted and appraised both her and Lan. They must've known her for an Aes Sedai – certainly, the whole of Emond's Field must've known of her by now – but though most of the people in Two Rivers had given her the curious looks, it was always underlined with awe. But not these two men; the look they gave her was focused, intent eye-to-eye contact. It was as if they were evaluating her as an equal. And they weren't giving Lan a second glance, as if someone as skilled and deadly as a Warder is not worth their time. That was strange to say the least – and she could sense Lan's confusion, as well – but what was their interest in her? It was slightly unnerving and annoying, considering that not even nobles gave her such looks, and she was almost ready to take charge of the situation, when she heard a foreign deep male voice close behind her:

"Is there a problem?"

Lan whirled around, almost startled. He obviously didn't hear this new man approaching, despite his superbly attuned senses. Moiraine maintained her cool and serene Aes Sedai composure, and turned halfway to look up at the incomer that stood next to her. He was huge! Not as tall as Lan, being perhaps half a head shorter, but he was a man and a half wide. And his arms! They appeared to be as thick as a log, hands so massive as if they carried the strength of pincers, and chest and shoulders so broad that it appeared a massive rock has torn loose from a mountainside somewhere. He approached the soldiers calmly, confidently, as if whole of the time in the world was his; but despite that, his posture exuded readiness to strike. And Moiraine could see the soldiers swallowing. For a moment, they held eye contact, before they lowered their eyes in submission.

"No, Lord Perrin," one of the black-armored soldiers said hurriedly, but composedly. "There is no problem. We were just curious when we found ourselves in the presence of newcomers, that we forgot common courtesy. We apologize." He nodded respectfully toward Moiraine. Her attention had jumped a notch when she heard she was in the presence of one of Manetheren young lords.

Lord Perrin nodded. "Very well, then. Dismissed."

The two soldiers stood at attention, saluted by slamming their right gauntleted fist against their chest and outstretching their arm, and then turned on their heel and hurried down the stairs out of the Palace's courtyard.

Moiraine's eyes followed them for a bit, before she turned her attention back toward lord Perrin. And, there, she was completely pinned down by a pair of burning, golden eyes. She couldn't even let out a single breath. Somewhere from the back of her mind a memory came to the fore: this man was a Wolfbrother! The air of untamed wilderness was all about him. Dark curly hair and a two-day stubble that she noticed was purposefully kept as such, made him look ruggedly handsome, like a woodland ranger. His unbuttoned black leather jacket and the loose collar of his shirt flapped freely against the razor wind, but the man stood as if he couldn't care less, firm and completely unfazed, just like a proud wolf perching on a rock. This was a man, Moiraine had a strangest feeling, next to whom every noble, anywhere else in the world, would seem and feel petty.

But, be that as it may, her pragmatic part of mind told her it was as good a moment as any for her to begin to manipulate her way with the young lords of Manetheren, and what a fortunate turn of events to find one of them separated from the rest, even if for a short while. And, as more and more facts of Wolf brethren came back to her, the fact of this young man being a Wolfbrother might just serve her better than she expected. She remembered men like these had great inner struggles against their wild side, which always threatened to overtake, and leave them a wild bestial person. If she provided help... Sensing the general direction where her inner thoughts had taken her, Lan had taken a step back at this moment, and kept his quiet, like any Warder would when his Aes Sedai would take the initiative and spoke to a person of interest. It was her job. Not his.

"Lord Perrin Aybara, I presume?" she said, staring the man straight in the eyes.

"You presume correctly, Moiraine Sedai," he responded easily, the untamed wilderness reaching out through the intensity of his voice.

"Oh? You know of me?"

"As if your visit is not already known by the entire Emond's Field, Moiraine Sedai," he said, then turned toward Master al'Vere's stable boy, who stood in silence nearby all this time. "Tad, you brought Moiraine Sedai here to meet us? Good. You should return to Master al'Vere, now; this day will be hectic, and he'll certainly be in need of you a lot."

The young man bowed wordlessly, then turned and left. Perrin then turned back to Moiraine.

"As I was saying, people here remember how it used to have been all those centuries ago, when we had Aes Sedai Queens, wealthy lands, and glorious cities. I'm sure you've heard of those dreams, _and_ noticed the result. Common folk will be overjoyed at the idea that a real Aes Sedai is here, and the word has already spread fast."

"I see," she said off-handedly, while casting her look around the courtyard casually. It was all she said, though, planning to let the silence settle in to a nearly uncomfortable level, wanting him to feel ignored. She needed him confused, unbalanced in any way, to make him clear his throat, to begin stuttering.

"To what can we owe the pleasure of having you here, Moiraine Sedai?" he asked her evenly. Calmly. As if there was no rush to anything.

_Hm, no luck so far,_ Moiraine thought inwardly.

"I have heard of the People's Palace from your town's Mayor," she said, "and I had to come and see a building of such strange name and purpose of it being a library. I must say, it certainly is an awe-inspiring building."

"Moiraine Sedai, please," Perrin shook his head gently." I was referring to the reason that brought you into the Two Rivers in general. You can't convince me that someone such as yourself came all the way here just for sightseeing. Don't get me wrong; I'm sure your reason is quite valid. But from what I've been told, you have been quite surprised by what you have found here, which tells me you have expected to find but a few backwater villages. So, what could possibly be of such dire importance for an _Aes Sedai_ to come seeking in _such_ a Two Rivers?"

Moiraine felt a strange tug somewhere in her core, pulling her to speak the words: _The Dragon. I came here to find the Dragon_. But the tug was only slight, and her willpower managed it easily. Still, it was unnerving; that sensation could have only been Ta'veren pull, she was sure of it. What a close call! Not only was he Ta'veren, but this young man seemed to know how to deduce and ask questions in a way they could not be left unanswered. Her caution rose, and she sank in deeper thought for a moment. She needed a diversion.

"You are right, lord Perrin," she said out loud, her voice seeming distant. "Though, it is not 'what' that made me come here, but rather 'who'."

He raised his head ever so slightly, just like a noble would, she thought, when he expected an explanation.

"I am on a quest, lord Perrin," she said solemnly, "a quest every Aes Sedai does every moment of her life, which is to find ways to fight against the Shadow. It is known that these lands were once Manetheren, and Manetheren was the greatest thorn in the Dark One's eye. I was hoping, against all odds, that here I would be able to find a great instrument of fighting against the Shadow; that, perhaps, the people that were once Manathereners would hold the key to our salvation." She looked pointedly at him, then. "And I think I have found at least one. Perhaps not the key, but rather – a champion."

There, she hadn't lied one bit. Perrin shifted, suddenly looking uncomfortable and irritated.

"That is as strange explanation, as it is a blunt declaration," he said, and his eyes narrowed. "Though, I would appreciate it if you don't use such phrases, Moiraine Sedai. I am not a champion, and to tell you the truth, it gives me the hackles. Not that I wouldn't enjoy sending every last spawn of shadow back into the abyss from whence it came, but same could be said for any man or woman here in Manetheren. So, what, in world's name, made you think I would be so special?"

Moiraine smiled mysteriously.

"Since the dawn of man, there were certain men that could commune with nature at baser levels," she spoke like a perfect storyteller, conveying importance to every word. "Whether by the blessing of Creator or the Wheel itself, they were able to communicate with various beasts." She looked at him straight in the eyes. "Particularly, with wolves."

The man seemed stoic, but she noticed a slightest widening of his eyes.

"They are called Wolfbrothers," she concluded in a tutoring manner. "And they have always been greater adversaries against the Shadow than an average human was, just as wolves harbor great hatred against all shadowspawn. All they ever want to do when they smell a Trolloc is to kill it, even if it means their own death."

She took a bold step, approaching regally, just like she was taught by her etiquette tutors in Cairhien, and touched his forearm.

"I _know_, lord Perrin," she said, solemnly. "It has always been known in the White Tower of men touched by the Creator in the way that you are. However, I know it was not an easy fate to bear. It carries many dangers, and I know the other side of your nature must weigh heavily upon you, as well, but I'd wager that whatever you might have faced so far might not be the half of it."

Perrin's eyes, however, betrayed nothing anymore.

"What are you saying?" he asked slowly.

"A burden as heavy as yours can't be forever carried alone. I'm just saying that if your burden ever becomes too great to bare, my lord, I might be able to help. That's what Aes Sedai do."

There was a long moment of uncomfortable silence.

"Thank you for your consideration, Moiraine Sedai," he said at last, "But as for your assumption of knowing exactly how heavily my nature weighs upon me, well... you really don't."

"Fair to say," she nodded. "But, believe me when I tell you that the White Tower has the most extensive knowledge of the matter in the whole World. There are experts in the White Tower who would certainly hold knowledge that could help you in your situation."

"And when you say that, you speak of... curing my condition?" his mouth formed strangely around words as he spoke, almost as if they were distasteful, and she could feel a strange tension in his voice. Considering what she had known of Wolf brethren, she could not blame him. Few of them could endure, let alone conquer their wild side. To her, such wild savagery was indeed a distasteful thing.

"If there is a cure," she said, "the White Tower would be the only place in the World where one might hope to find it."

Again, silence fell heavy, and not even the rustling of leaves and distant sounds of people could lighten it. Perrin was silent for a while, his golden eyes never – not even for a single moment in all this time – leaving hers, as if he was trying to peer into her soul, trying to discern whether he could trust her. She was about to speak again to assure him of her intentions, when he abruptly looked up at the sky and took a deep breath.

"This wind makes this a poor place for this, or any other conversation to be had, Moiraine Sedai," he said at last. "You and your Warder should join me in the comfort of the Palace's inner chambers, and meet other overlords of Manetheren. We can continue our conversation there."

"Of course," she acceded.

_Excellent!_ Moiraine whooped inwardly. With Lord Perrin's condition for her to use, and the good fortune that made him cross her path, it all seemed to work well out for her. One lord hooked, two more to go. And she didn't even try hard.

Perrin had taken a couple of brisk, firm steps toward the Palace – that reminded Moiraine of no-nonsense commanders who guarded the Blight border – but then he remembered to slow down to accommodate her pace, seeming quite bored by the fact. Yes, quite like Blight border commanders. She wondered off-handedly if there ever were battles this young man could have possibly had to fight before he attained that kind of attitude.

"I understand that the Palace is also the residence of Emond's Field's nobility?" she asked.

"Indeed, it is. Rand, Mat and I, have been acting as overlords of these lands for a while, now, and the Palace is not just our residence, but our headquarters, as well."

"What a strange use for a building, then – to have so many different uses that might come into conflict with one another, that is," she said.

"Perhaps to you, who come from the outside. To us, it is not so strange. While we were still a village, all the administrative meetings and decisions concerning our community were done from our Inn. It has become a tradition of a sort. Even after the Town Hall's construction, the Town Council still finds the Winespring Inn a more comfortable, familiar ground. Call it stubbornness if you want to, but that's just the way local people are."

They climbed the broad steps that led to the Palace's great entrance that stood ever-wide-opened during daytime, and passed through heavy twin doors, twice as high as any man, intricately carved with steel reinforcements all over, disguised as metal engravings. They passed the short hallway, and entered the grand interior.

"Welcome to the Great Hall, Moiraine Sedai," Perrin said solemnly.

If Moiraine was amazed by the exterior of the building, she was dead struck when she saw the interior. The great central section was constructed as one huge hall with the great dome far above, supported with six massive pillars in a circular arrangement. The humongous floor-to-ceiling windows gave way to immense illumination that reflected off of polished white marble surfaces and massive crystal chandeliers. The floors were decorated with floral patterns, while the walls had pale grey and white stone murals that depicted images of kings, queens and soldiers. There were two levels of wide circular walkways along the walls, accessible by stairwell that spiraled along the walls. There were people everywhere.

"You seem surprised to see so many common folk," Perrin said as he looked down at Moiraine. "The whole Palace is one massive library; that was what its original purpose was supposed to be, though in eyes of the townsfolk that has been changed somewhat. Look up at those walkways, for instance," and he pointed in the direction, "Between windows lie bookshelves, while next to the windows you'll see benches and tables where people can sit and read. Everyone is welcome, and encouraged to visit. I'm sure you'll find something to your liking there."

"I'm sure," Moiraine said, then seemed to think on something a bit. "You said that the purpose of this building has changed in the eyes of the townsfolk? In what way, if I may ask?"

"Simple, really. They don't see it as a library; they never did, in fact. From the first moment, they saw it as the Palace of their overlords, who have been kind enough to allow them access to its vast libraries – something quite different than what we've been trying to make them realize." He shook his head gently and chuckled. "Humans are strange creatures. Their foolish tendency – no – their blind _need_ to put someone, or something above themselves, then relinquish their freedom to that one person or institution, was something that has always astounded me. Don't you agree, Aes Sedai?"

Now, that was strange, Moiraine thought. He called her Aes Sedai, not by her name. She looked up at him, but he was not looking back down. No, in fact, it was more than strange. Had she not known for a fact that this young man was born and raised as a villager, and only recently became lord, she would have thought he was playing _Daes dae'mar_, conveying tons of hidden meanings through a couple of sentences. And playing it pretty good, for that matter. Had he been a real Cairhienin, she would have interpreted his words as if he was making a parallel to the White Tower, and saying that people are wrongly placing their faith into it. But it couldn't be. He has barely stepped into manhood.

"Luckily," he continued, "the three of us did not abuse the power we were given."

"But you _have_ accepted the title of lordship, have you not?" Moiraine asked, probing her way, seeking cracks in his logic in order to plant the seed of her influence. "How is it that you didn't use it for your gain, then?"

"By the very fact that we give everything back," was an immediate, arrow-straight answer. "Everyone is welcome to come here and seek enlightenment. We will deny nobody, and help everybody. Besides, the White Tower itself would go out of its way to spread all of its knowledge, as was the goal of all Aes Sedai since before the Breaking, is it not? So who are we to do any less?"

Moiraine felt the oath of truth constricting her throat. She couldn't answer his question with a clear 'yes', but she be damned if she confessed an outright 'no'. The White Tower's reputation must not be tarnished! The questions and assumptions he was making were taking the conversation in, what was for her plans, a _very_ dangerous direction. She had to change the subject, quickly. Fortunately, the man seemed to have spoken in rhetorical way, not expecting an answer. The manner in which he tended to speak – militarily straightforward and intense, but in a relaxed, easy manner, without pause, clipping the words or any kind of emphasizing – it all made her doubt he was playing _Daes dae'mar_ at all. It was more as if he really believed in what he was saying. And it made her all the more careful. Ideals are good, but if she wasn't careful, she could unintentionally crush those ideals, and nothing is more dangerous than a man whose dreams have been crushed.

"Indeed, my lord," she said, diverting the conversation to the more safe themes, "one needs to strive for more, to do more, and make ever greater feats in his life. Such as this." She spread her arms, pointing in general direction across the Great Hall. "This Palace is certainly an impressive building. It is amazing that your people have managed to build it. Where did you get the inspiration? What style is it built in?"

"Pure Manetheren style," Perrin said with a tone of open pride.

"But how can that be?" she asked in clear surprise. "Manetheren is long gone, and no stone remains."

"_Dreams_ remain," he said solemnly. "I'm sure you've heard of people having dreams of old times? Call it a blood memory, if you will. It is much more complicated than that, of course, going much deeper than simple blood, but let's keep it that way, for the sake of simplicity. Only the native folk that draw their bloodline from ancient Manetheren have the potential for those recurring dreams. It was when a certain man managed to remember a clear dream, where he saw a city of Manetheren. He drew some of the buildings he saw. And the resulting memories that people had when they saw the pictures was enough to give rise to desire to re-build something like that. It was Rand, Mat and I, that gave them the idea for the purpose of the building and its location, and in the end, people were more than... adamant for that to be something else – a real palace for their lords, and for us to take residence here. We could have said no, of course, but the thing is, these people have barely risen from the level of being villagers. They are still too simple of mind, easy to be tricked, and had we actually left them without clear leadership, they would be very quick to undo much of what they have achieved. Every sheep needs a shepherd, after all; it's something we know how to do quite well around here."

Moiraine looked upward, toward the grand dome. There was something when facing with a space this huge... it was as if she was afraid of breathing. It was the same sensation she – not to mention every other person sensed – during the first weeks of her residence in the White Tower all those years ago. She cleared her throat.

"I don't understand how it is that you've managed to build a structure of this grandeur."

"It wasn't easy," he said, suddenly sounding tired, like someone does when he is longing for the events in his memory. "A lot of people worked on it. A lot of sweat and injuries. There were various new methods we had to employ, some of them more unusual than others. But it was fun."

"Oh? What kind of construction methods might those be?" she asked.

Perrin smiled. "Oh, I'm sure you wouldn't understand, and it would simply tire you out. Only craftsmen can understand all of the explanations."

"_You_ sound like you do understand, even though you are a lord," she said with a hint of good-natured accusation. "Don't tell me you're a craftsman as well."

Perrin lifted his hands to her; the gigantic, veiny hands, with fingers as thick as sausages, his palms thick-skinned and calloused, even having scars that were fresh. She could barely stop her own hands from reaching out to delve with One Power into those scars and callouses, to heal, to do something.

"You, my lord?" she asked incredulously. "You are a craftsman?"

"I had helped in many ways when this palace was under construction, yes. I was part-time builder, part-time engineer, but first and foremost, I still am a blacksmith."

Layers upon layers, she thought. A lot of layers in this young man. He was certainly not what he seemed to be.

Perrin turned and led her and Lan leftward, toward the West wing, but Moiraine paid only half a mind to where she was going. Her eyes had homed in toward the exit opposite the one they first entered, that led into the South Wing. It was there that the glow of _saidar_ was coming from. She could see some of the weaves, despite the fact there were several walls between them and her. Some of those weaves were pretty complex. And what's more, she had no idea as to what their effect might be! She needed to meet these wilders, and she needed to do it as soon as possible. But the doorway to the South Wing had guards posted. Not that the guards could stop her, or anything, but it would not serve her in gaining these people's trust if she were to just force her way through. But, if she were to succeed in what she had decided – to depict all this as a threat these young lords have made for themselves, and to show them a way out of it – she is certain they would grant her all of the access in that case. She needed more information on it, though.

"Lord Perrin? If I may ask, the South Wing –"

"Is restricted." And that was the firm period she heard in his voice. An unexpected firmness, and shift in attitude back to his brusque and firm no-nonsense manner.

"Restricted?" she pressed on.

"Except to a selected few," he elaborated.

"And, of course the three overlords – I understand that. But, who else would be counted in the selected few?"

"Those that _we_ know of, that the townsfolk could only throw guesses of, and for everyone else," he turned and looked down at her pointedly, "to know nothing of."

She drew herself up regally. She got the point, no doubt about it, but she couldn't let it just rest there. She was an Aes Sedai, dammit! She would not allow this _young_ man to have the last say, and she would _not_ lose to him. He was proving to be more than headstrong, and frankly, his whole brusque attitude was becoming quite annoying. What if other two are like this? Things needed to be taken into hands right here, right now.

"I have a distinct feeling, Lord Perrin," she said, the silk in her voice tightening over the steel edge, "that you know _exactly_ why I am inquiring of the South Wing."

He just looked down at her. His eyes told her he did. But there was no fear behind them. Why?

"You do know." She stated. Her voice gained an icy, dangerous edge as she spoke. "Then you know that those women that reside in the Southern Wing _are_ my concern. They have always been the concern of the White Tower. Do you have any realization how much the untrained channelers can be dangerous? To what ends they can be used? Am I supposed to think that these lands are not a threat to the world peace if you refuse to cooperate on this particular matter?"

Perrin took a slow, deliberate step toward her, looming above her like a gigantic rock. Moiraine noticed from the corner of her eye that Lan reacted by taking a step of his own, and assuming the posture for pre-emptive strike. Perrin looked at him slowly, to his sword, then back up at him. Amusement fluttered through his golden eyes, and she could see him valiantly holding down a smirk by clenching his jaw.

No fear at all. Why? Any other lord, be him a swordsman or not, would be afraid in presence of a trained Warder! There was a brief pause before Perrin looked back at her.

"Those women you refer to," he said slowly, "are citizens of Manetheren. We will not allow _anyone_ to as much as touch them against their will. Not even the White Tower. Are we clear on that?"

"You would go against the White Tower?" Moiraine asked incredulously.

Perrin sniffed dismissively. "It seems that your experience among the citizens today has made you forget one important thing, Moiraine Sedai. Though Aes Sedai as individuals were respected in Manetheren, it was the working of the White Tower that was responsible for Manetheren's fall. Yes, I do know of the fact and so do you, I see. Do you wonder why the people don't? Because, back then, they never knew, either. Only a few did. And the memories of the one of those few happen to reside within the head of Matrim Cauthon, who happens to be a lord in Two Rivers, now. So, to answer your question – yes. We _would_ go against the White Tower, if need be."

Moiraine was silent. She stared a hundred blades at him. No reaction, other than staring back, just as intently.

"If you were to do that, you would be sure to incur wrath of other countries, as well," she said. "That would be foolish beyond measure!"

She wanted to continue speaking, but he halted her by lifting his palm. His words were impatient, and matter-of-factly:

"Moiraine Sedai, we could spend whole day like this, and I can tell you that no matter what, you can't sway my opinion. You would only be wasting your breath. But, I see that you will not be deterred from doing it anyway. So, why don't we abandon this pointless conversation in public hallways, and go to inner chambers? There, once you've met Rand and Mat, you will state your case, demands, say all that you need to say, and _then_ we will see."

Such stubbornness! Did he even know what she was capable of? He must have. Then why this? Why... No, she was wrong. Being headstrong had nothing to do with it. There was something about this young man all this time that she only now begun to realize – an aura of conversational skill and leadership she did not expect to find. Not in the slightest. Things were getting out of her hands, and she was genuinely getting angry with this young man's demeanor. It was not just as if he considered himself her equal, but acted as if he owed her nothing while she owed him everything.

Perrin turned and led them up to the upper floor, then down the long corridor lined with pillars, and rich tapestries and paintings neatly displayed in their midst. It was strange how even now she managed to notice the numerous little details one sees when entering a new place. Every surface seemed to be polished to a gleam, and the color that predominated was white, light gray-blue, and beige. There were many doors along the way, but Perrin led them straight down to the end of the corridor, to the largest twin door.

"After you," he said as he pulled the handle, and opened the door for her.

They had entered what Moiraine judged was the interior under one of the smaller domes at the opposite ends of the Palace. Though, 'small' was not the impression it left, even from the inside. The interior of the dome was one great circular space, but unlike the Great Central Hall of the Palace, this one was arranged as a vast, comfortable sitting room. Like elsewhere in the Palace, white, beige and grey-blue colors were predominant, beginning from the marble walls, to the intriguing furniture. The arrangement of the room's furnishings was most interesting, as well, following a circular disposition to complement the room's circular shape. There were many whitewood cupboards and high bookshelves along the walls, all intricately carved in leaves and vines. A couple of large study desks were placed near the tall windows, and there were a few sets of comfortable ottomans and upholstered armchairs with small tables among them in the inner circle, all carefully arranged as to not disturb the harmony. The floor of the central area was a couple of steps lowered, with a large spherically shaped metal wireframe in the center that had shapes of brass-cast continents on it. Moiraine figured it was a representation of the World – specifically, the one based on the old, unconfirmed theory that the World was round.

Everything in the room seemed to be made for absolute working comfort. Not even Amyrlin's study was this spacious and comfortable. And it was warm; just like the rest of the Palace, she realized just now. Warm, despite the fact that she could see only one working fireplace here, and no fireplaces in the Great Hall. It was then that she noticed there were others in here, for she could hear somebody speaking in a deep, theatrical voice that carried.

"…and all you'll stake is your personal pride. Me, on the other hand, will wager this absolutely worthless copper penny that has been gathering rust at the bottom of my forgotten pocket."

"You know what, you've got yourself a deal, pal," was a response to that.

"This way," Perrin said, leading them across the room. She noticed there was no echo from any of the voices, despite the room's size. There was a sound in the air, though; a constant, faint chime of some kind, like the one of a tiniest bell. It became more tangible as they approached the other side.

Three other men were there. One sat on a high-backed armchair turned toward the window away from them all. She couldn't see much of him, other that he seemed to be reading from a sheet of paper he held in front of him, and his left arm that was draped over chair's armrest that held a glass of whiskey by its rim, and... What was that between his fingers? A smoldering twig of some sort.

Pragmatically, and not wanting to leave an impression of staring in an attempt to see, she turned her attention toward the other two men.

They sat in upholstered armchair and ottoman respectively, and on the opposite sides of a small, low table; a game of stones that seemed well underway – but not played at the moment – sat on top of it. One of the men was fairly old. He had shaggy white hair that did seem to have had a glancing blow with a comb at some point that morning – right after its quarrel with a bunch of firecrackers, from the looks of things – and long, sleek white mustaches. His face was gnarled, but Moiraine could sense an air of deep wisdom and brutal intelligence coming from his blue eyes. His whole demeanor carried an air of nobility, in fact; the way he leisurely sat in the chair, the way he held his pipe in his long fingers as he scrutinized the newcomers. Not quite a noble, actually, but certainly someone who moved in those circles. This man must be some kind of advisor to these boys, no doubt about it, Moiraine thought. And it must've been him who taught these boys the "manners" she saw in Perrin. Well, that would have to be rectified, real soon. She just had to get rid of his presence, first, as well as lower his value in the boys' eyes. It was a necessary evil.

The other one was young, some twenty years in age, maybe. He seemed to be somewhat tall, long-limbed and wiry, but obviously strong, if one could judge by the defined muscles of his bared forearms. He had short brown hair and as he turned his head to look at her she could see brown eyes that seemed to be brimming with amusement. The moment he saw her, he spoke the most confusing words:

"And, you're right; I'm so gonna like this challenge," he said. To whom, she wondered. The old man probably.

Which one was this, Moiraine pondered. Lord Mat or lord Rand? It was then that she discovered where that strange chime was coming from. This young man was repeatedly flicking a gold coin with his finger, making it spin around on the tabletop... without ever casting a glance to what he was doing! She had to look again where the young man's eyes were. Nope, he wasn't looking at the coin – he was looking at her, actually. Yet the coin spun. It spun, traversing a perfect, broad, circular path, before reaching to its starting position right next to the young man's waiting finger that would flick it again, sending it into another round. How, in the name of Light, was he doing that?!

"Mat, for crying out loud," She heard Perrin's gruff voice, "cut that out. That sound is killing my ears."

Mat looked up in obvious surprise, then to his right hand.

"Oh." he realized. He moved his hand, and off-handedly flicked the coin on its return path, launching it through the air, and making it land straight into the pocket of his rich, expensive vest, without ever looking at what he was doing, or even moving to catch it.

"Sorry, man," Mat said, his voice having some sort of husky quality Moiraine couldn't quite put her finger to. "Didn't realize I was doing it."

He then leaned back, spreading his arms across the backing of the ottoman, laying the ankle of one leg across the knee of the other, and took a long evaluating look at Moiraine. Slow. Measuring. All over her. She could practically feel him stripping her down to her bare skin with his eyes. Mischievous, experienced eyes, the kind she could feel touching her wherever they landed, taking special attention to her feminine curves; evaluating, probing, caressing and above all leaving a tingling, almost tangible sensation, as if they were calculatedly seeking response. Great, just what she needed – a womanizer. It shouldn't matter to her, it shouldn't bother her. She was from Cairhien, for Light's sake, and Light knew she had enough similar encounters before she became Aes Sedai. She was just grown unaccustomed to it after all this time, that's all! Yet her hands still wanted to reach out to straighten her dress for a sole purpose of convincing herself that the dress was still there. She stopped and rubbed her thumb against the buds of her fingers instead. _Focus. Focus. Those tingles on your skin are just phantom sensation, nothing more._ When his eyes met hers, they carried a clear message for him: _you're out of your league, boy. Wait till you hear what I am._ But he just stared back, smiling indulgently. There was something alluring in his smile.

She was brought back by the surprisingly vigorous, carrying voice of the old man.

"I wasn't bothered by the sound the coin was making," he said, his voice that resonating around the room. "In fact, I think it was helping me concentrate. It is amazing how such a tiny sound can dull the outside world and make one concentrate on the matters at hand."

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather that he wouldn't make it," Perrin said.

"Indeed, lad, indeed."

"But tell us, Wolfman," the younger one said, nodding toward Moiraine, "Who do we have here?"

"Everyone," Perrin addressed them, "this here is Moiraine Sedai, and her Warder, Lan. She came here to what she expected was the Two Rivers from before, and apparently she has been quite surprised to find something else entirely."

"I'll say," the young man responded, then shifted snuggly where he sat, taking a ponderous breath as he evaluated her. "An Aes Sedai…"

"Were you expecting I would look like a Trolloc, lord…?

He rose lazily to his feet, carrying an indulgent smile. She could practically smell the nimbus of mischievousness around him, as if he was preparing to unleash a fresh prank on her. He took a step toward her… a step too close.

"Well, now you just lack imagination," he said. "I was actually thinking more in the line of a… relatively young and _really _good-looking mother in law with a whip. Compared to some mothers-in-law I've seen, Trolloc is a sweetheart. It just kills; mother-in-law kills slowly."

Moiraine tried not to react. In all her life – at least Aes Sedai life – even nobles fully avoided making comparisons of her kind when she was present, even if she was the one that instigated it; they would become uncomfortable, then politely withdraw. This young man, though…

"The name's Matrim Cauthon," he continued with unflinching smile, "and I'd appreciate it if you drop the assumed lordliness from it. This veteran here is my good ol' friend, Thom Merilin."

The oldster sprang to his feet and made a flourishing bow that Moiraine thought fit perfectly on a stage of some sort, before he returned his attention to her with a cool look. She had seen such before in many advisor's and noble's eyes alike. And, despite the fact that he hid it well, she could tell that he did not like her at all. This man must've come from outside, indeed, where those blasted stories of Aes Sedai depicted them nearly evil. She hoped he didn't had time to poison their mind... although, considering all the things she had witnessed so far, these boys had some independent knowledge themselves.

"Thom here has spent the last year trying to teach me the finer sides of modern-day courtly manners and etiquette," Matrim continued, "but I can't seem to wrap my head around how to walk on eggs through a labyrinth of sharp obstacles, when there's a perfectly usable paved causeway going straight through it. I sincerely can't imagine what kind of an idiot does that. Someone like that clearly has issues."

_So people like me are idiots, eh?_ Moiraine thought angrily somewhere deep in her sub-consciousness.

"But hey, what do I know? Thom has been around the world, has seen things, and that has earned him some perks. Thus, he has been acting as a kind of an advisor for a couple of years now, so I'll let the man speak for himself."

"Is that so?" she said as she turned to Thom. "I'm sure your work has been most satisfactory so far. Especially in the absence of a more skilled person."

Thom blinked at the subtle jab, then bowed his head. "I am but a humble man that has had some experience with service of an advisor, before my previous employer decided my services were no longer required. I had traveled the world since then, taking on a noble profession of a Gleeman, before chance had it to meet these outstanding young men."

"Outstanding? We shall see about that," she said mysteriously, while casting her look toward young men, evaluating them as if they weren't even there. "Becoming outstanding is something that takes a lot of time, Master Merilin. None the less, now that I am here, your duties will be much less encumbering from now on."

She could not miss the wariness in his eyes, but he bowed again. Perhaps he was smarter than these boys; smart enough to be more than respectful toward Aes Sedai, anyway, even though he obviously didn't like her kind, and even though she practically all but told him in his face that he might end up searching for a new employer.

He puffed a smoke from his pipe and spoke in that theatrical voice of his, not sparing any theatrical hand motions of a public orator:

"If you feel that your aid as an Aes Sedai would be useful to these young men, then by all means! Who am I to say no to someone such as you? Be warned, though: these young men are next to impossible to handle. And in the end, final say is not mine, you understand."

Moiraine turned to Mat with a raised eyebrow.

"Hey, don't look at me," he raised his hands. "Thom may be my man, but I couldn't care less about politics. It's like fifty shades of grey to me – and when it comes to my line of work, that's all worthless bullshit that doesn't hold water."

"So, you're not a lord," Moiraine squinted ponderously, by now taking his somewhat coarse language as a matter-of-fact. "But I see you wear fine clothing: silk shirt, expensive vest, quality breeches..."

"Occupational hazard," he shrugged.

"And shining boots?"

"Hey," he pointed a finger at her seriously, "well-cared boots save lives."

"Is that so?" she smirked. "So, what kind of a man is not a lord but dresses like one because he needs to, and values shiny boots not as a symbol of lordship but of something that saves lives?"

Thom Merilin chuckled as he puffed smoke. "A very headstrong one, Moiraine Sedai," he said, then pointed at Matrim with the stem of his pipe. "This here is the Marshal-General of Manetheren Armed Forces."

Moiraine raised an eyebrow questioningly. This... boy? A General? Ridiculous! He wasn't even carrying weapon of any kind, unless that short and strangely shaped metal baton that hung from his belt could be called a weapon. Are they making fun of her?

"You seem to be rather young to hold a position of a Marshal-General," she said out loud. "Have you ever waged any battles?"

"Well that depends," he said, taking on a serious face. "Do battles between bed sheets count? I've won quite a few of those."

Moiraine blinked. Did she just hear him right? She wasn't innocent when it came to profanities one always encountered in Inns or among lowlifes, but there was no way he just expressed himself so in front of Aes Sedai. That would be the first time someone spoke in such a way straight to her face.

"No?" he continued in that husky voice. "Well, then, how about those battles that ensue afterward? Those should definitely count; there's nothing worse than fighting a vengeful woman that found out you've been engaging in bedtime battles with _another_ woman. Yeah... I've won all of those too... usually by drawing them out onto the familiar ground… well – bed, in my case."

_Don't react. Don't even blink,_ she said to herself. Did he even hear Perrin telling them she's Aes Sedai? Fortunately, Lan came to her aid just then.

"Have you ever seen blood?" he almost growled. "Have you ever seen a battlefield where men die screaming? A general's duty is a heavy one; it doesn't consist in using your position and influence to have fun. A general carries the lives of thousands of soldiers in his hands and their blood on his soul. Can you say that you know what it feels like? Can you say that you've felt the burden of such duty?"

A slight smile never left Matrim's face, but Moiraine could see a deep and mirthless focus in his eyes.

"Actually, yes. I can."

Alright, either he was a perfect actor, or he truly believed what he said. But a delusion that heavy? It could be explained by madness if he were a channeler... but then again, his friends didn't seem to show any kind of surprise that would account for him lying, let alone saying something deluded. They too believed, or have witnessed enough to believe him. No. No, he wasn't a channeler. Then _what_?

"If you do not wish to believe," the young man continued, still carrying that easy smile that seemed to be his trademark, "that's fine by me. It just makes my work easier, especially if we ever were to find ourselves on opposite sides, which believe me, you don't want to happen. I hold more experience on the matter of battles than you do, and I would in fact be more than happy to teach you a thing or two about martial stratagem. Not that I'd expect a Warder to know or ever have need of it, but hey, what do I know? Who's to say a Warder won't be leading Aes Sedai into battle?"

_When grapes grow on willow tree!_ Moiraine all but blurted out loud.

Mat sat back leisurely and draped his arms across the back of the ottoman, placing finality to his words but looking back at her, waiting on her move and fully expecting her to respond. The ball was on her side of the court, and he _wanted_ her to respond. She decided not to give into it. Too much unknowns. And there was that ever-present sense that he was not in the slightest intimidated by her. But to openly brag and taunt like that? A rebel – that much was clear – an impulsive one, brash, without an ounce of humility, and with as a tremendous dose of sane-based unpredictability as she had ever seen in any man. How could he possibly have such an experience? She exasperated mentally. And here she thought Perrin was headstrong.

"One shouldn't address Aes Sedai like that," Lan said.

"And I should give a damn – why exactly?" He countered brazenly.

"Aes Sedai wield the One Power," was the half-answer, before she could raise her hand to halt him.

He raised his eyebrows. "An Aes Sedai? Wise, serene, pacifist and noble Aes Sedai to feel threatened by words of some piss-ass jerk enough to lash out with One Power?" then pondered. "Gee, I don't know... wouldn't that make her just like any other hysterical, bratty teenage girl? If I was a serious entity such as the White Tower claims itself to be, I would have made sure to cull such behavior _way_ before ever considering granting her the right to call herself Aes Sedai."

Well, burn her! He had effectively tied her hands down! And it was pretty damn impressive, even by her standards. The Aes Sedai themselves had silently cultivated the sense among the common folk that they are to be looked upon with awe, and not to be angered. Where did he get the skills to manipulate the conversation like that? Their advisor, Thom Merilin? No, one look at him made it clear he was not that kind of person.

There was something about these young men, both Perrin and Mat... they were confident, at ease. She was missing something. Something big.

"You seem to dislike me, Matrim," she said. "What is it about me that you dislike?"

He laughed. "No, no, no, you have it all wrong," he said, "it's not _you_ I dislike; in fact, there is not a single thing about you I dislike. I mean, look at yourself. You are a living incarnation of Golden Proportion."

She frowned. "A what?"

"That's the number of perfect proportion on a female body. The length ratio of your upper-to-lower body; the width of your waist compared to that of your hips; your lips compared to your nose; size of your eyes compared to their spacing… everything on you is in a ratio of just over one by one-and-a-half."

"One by one-point-sixty-two," she heard the third man, the one that sat away from them, say.

"1:1.62," Mat concurred with a smile. "And it's absolutely _beautiful_. You should be proud. There are women that would sell their soul to the Dark One to have your figure."

She prevented a smile from forming on her lips. It has been a very long time since any man had ever told her that, least of all like this; they tended to avoid her like the plague at the very first mention of "Aes". Though she was aware of her beauty, and was never the kind of women that would lose their self-confidence because of such encounters, it did make her shut that part of it deep inside. But Matrim's praise made her feel… grateful… if nothing, then for reminding her. Although, she didn't know how to respond to it. The game this man played was confusing. Was he being hostile? Polite? Or is it something else entirely?

"Flattery will get you nowhere," she said. "I am Aes Sedai."

"Precisely!" he said. "It's the fact you're Aes Sedai of the White Tower that makes you so ugly. You see, a woman like you could have her pick of the men. Yet, how many men have approached you on all those courtly events you must've attended since you became Aes Sedai? Two? Three? And let me guess: they had no idea you were Aes Sedai. And then they fled like they were next to a leper. That should have made you realize some things. So don't go asking me the reason why I dislike you; the reason, I think, is obvious enough."

She was fully aware that he somehow managed to jab her straight into that long-forgotten place of female vanity. Worst of all, he was right.

"So you dislike Aes Sedai in general," she said. "Have you ever met any of us before me? Isn't your dislike of us shallow, and based on some pathetic stories carried on by traveling Gleemen?" She looked pointedly at Thom. "You have no right to judge us all like that."

He leaned forward. "Now, you see, that's where you're wrong," he said. "I have every right."

"Oh? And how might that be?"

"Don't tell me you don't know what happened the last time Manetheren dealt with the White Tower?" he said. "Our nation got butchered by tides of Trolloc almost beyond recovery. And for what? For one woman's vanity?"

Moiraine squeezed her teeth for a short moment before answering. This was not going the way she thought. When she answered, threat was clear in her voice. "That was the doing of one woman, lord Matrim, like you said it yourself. You cannot label all of Aes Sedai based on her decisions alone."

"Huh, I didn't think on it that way," he said, sounding sincere. "So one woman built her power over time until she had enough to declare herself the Amyrlin Seat, thus getting all the power, and then she went on to do whatever she saw fit?"

"We're not some militaristic horde, General," She countered. "Aes Sedai choose their leader by voting. Voting must be unanimous."

"Really? Hmm… doesn't that make it a million times worse for your case? You see, what you just said means that it is your collective fault. _All_ Aes Sedai, and of the _whole_ White Tower. Moiraine Sedai, your kind was supposed to be a shining beacon, and you have lost all of your credibility by allowing a self-centered woman to have all the power. Yet you come here, trying to convince us that your lot are important because you are Aes Sedai." he said sarcastically as he flourished with his hands. "The esteemed, exalted, I-am-important Aes Sedai. Others bow to me. Kings and queens bow to me, for I am above them, too. I control others. I rule others. You. A Servant."

It was infuriating. The worst part was that what he just said was the truth. All truth. There were too many Aes Sedai out there that fit his description too much. And calling her title in common tongue – a Servant – was sounding so… belittling. But it was the truth, and she had no grounds on which she could object. And that's what made her furious even more.

"So, the bottom line is," Mat continued, "Manetheren holds no obligation to you; it is you who have obligation to us."

Though she was now completely furious within, she did not let it show nearly as much. These people's attitude, especially the assumption that they did not owe anything to the White Tower, was simply shocking. She just looked at Perrin, who looked back at her with his unyielding primal gaze, saying 'I had already stated Manetheren's position; you should have expected as much'. The fact that they had every right did not mean she would just let it slide. The influence of the White Tower and of Aes Sedai was not to be shaken. Never, and nowhere. That is where her allegiance has always laid. Those were the foundations she built her faith on, and she _must_ defend them. She did not like what she was about to do, but they were defying every other way. So stubborn! When a mule refuses a carrot, use all the sticks you have to beat it to submission.

She took a calming breath and looked around at each present in turn, then spoke, her voice becoming hard and grim. No silk to it, whatsoever.

"I am disappointed. I had expected more wisdom of the leaders of Manetheren."

It was then that a deep, reverberating chuckle came from where presumably the third lord of Manetheren sat in his armchair. She spoke up.

"You find something amusing, Master…?

"Rand al'Thor," Perrin answered in his stead. "_Lord_ Rand al'Thor of Manetheren."

"What I find amusing is your logic, Moiraine." the man said, as he handled some papers.

Now, there were times when she herself asked to be called simply 'Moiraine', without 'Sedai' suffix. But from the tone of his voice it was obvious that he considered her an equal from the very start. The plain 'Moiraine' seemed to sting at her vanity now more than ever.

"Well then, perhaps you would like to come here and explain it in detail… Rand."

He raised a finger. "Of course, and I'll be with you in a moment. Calen?"

Suddenly, Moiraine saw shifting in the corner of her eye, and another person who stood near another window approached Rand. How did she miss him? He must've had quite a bit of skill in remaining inconspicuous. Lan was tense, too. She could feel it. The man, Calen, was handed a pair of sealed envelopes.

"_Ishenye te'deredeth va turai ossa,_" she heard Lord Rand's deep, reverberating voice speaking in Old Tongue. "_Marshela istani tel yenn'edra do varesh, ne asha seshye._"

"_Shea hardeth?_"

"_Tel'margonyt._"

Calen bowed and left. Moiraine was left wanting. The speed, fluidity and flow of the language these men used were beyond anything she had ever heard from anyone speaking in Old Tongue! Forget those simple Old Tongue honorable greetings and cheers Borderlanders tended to use; compared to this here, they sounded crude to the point of vulgar. This was a whole new level altogether. She followed Calen with her look until he left, then turned to see lord Rand standing, looking at her. And she took an involuntary breath. It was as if a true Aiel stood before her.

He was… Tall. Very tall; one of the tallest men she had ever seen. Taller than Perrin, even. And not just that. He _stood_ tall. She would have expected that a young man of that height among these comparatively shorter folk would be slightly stooped, hunched in his shoulders like any other uncertain twenty-year-old she had seen. But no. He stood tall, with his broad shoulders firm and straight. Where Perrin was more like a warrior, Matrim a pure troublemaker, this man's posture was… truly regal; yet relaxed. He held that strange smoldering twig between the fingers of his right hand that was held halfway up. He took it to his mouth, slowly, without rush, closing them around the non-lighted end and inhaling. The smoldering end burned brighter, and she figured then that the man was smoking! Completely relaxed and unperturbed by the presence of an Aes Sedai. _Just_ like a man that held all the power of the world. And the idea sent a shiver down her spine. She didn't like the idea of men holding power. She…

She examined his face more closely as he exhaled smoke. He was quite handsome. _That_ she did notice. His hair was short and red, burning like a flame, and he had one of those faces one could immediately take as a whole – his chiseled jaw, lips, nose, high cheekbones and eyebrows, though each distinct in itself, formed a unified whole that formed around – and accentuated – his grey-blue eyes. But there was something as if familiar about him… it's as if she had seen him somewhere before, but could not place it.

The man moved leisurely toward her. There was certainty in his step, which carried on in his relaxed posture, as if he held all the time in the world. When he approached her, she had to tilt her head to look up at him. He seemed so bloody tall! He did not seem taller than Lan, but Lan had always deferred to her, and carried himself in slightly lowered posture. This man deferred to no one, and he was sure as heck letting everyone know. Well, not if she had any say in it! She had stared sovereign down into submission before, just by holding eye contact. She was not Aes Sedai for nothing, dammit!

She looked up at his eyes, and realized in an instant that it was a _bad_ idea. His eyes were ice and steel and radiant blue fire. She had never encountered such eyes. There was something about them that set him apart from any man she had ever seen. Perrin's eyes were primal, wild – a burning gold one had trouble maintaining eye contact with. Matrim's eyes were playful, mischievous – they touched and probed and pushed boundaries. But this man's eyes were… beyond any of that. They were powerful, radiating silent intensity that demanded attention, denying you right to move your eyes away. And while she could feel Matrim's eyes on her skin, this man's eyes she could feel on her soul; looking straight into what was Moiraine. A slight smile of amusement titillated his lips.

She shifted on her feet and straightened the inexistent folds of her dress.

He turned and walked to one of the armchairs and sat at his leisure, leaning back and crossing one leg over the knee of the other. Silent, as he took another smoke off that pipe-like twig. Contemplating, as he examined her closely and deeply. He motioned with his twig toward her.

"I find your presence here most intriguing, Moiraine," he said, "and though you may think otherwise, I assure you I have been keeping _very _close attention on you for these past minutes."

"And you think you have me figured out?"

"You'd be surprised." He inhaled another smoke. "But, be that as it may, there are some other facts that need to be cleared. So let's get some things straight, shall we? You came here to the Two Rivers fully knowing and expecting you'd find yourself twelve days south of Nowhere and a few leagues north of Never-set-foot-in, dead-center in the primitive, backwater don't-want-to-know-things community comprising of but a few villages. As to the reasons of why anyone not chased by bare-grace misery – let alone one of your apparent stature – would be coming here in the first place, is a different matter; one that you would not willingly share with us, I'm sure, but for the moment, it doesn't really matter."

Moiraine raised an eyebrow amusedly. "Don't tell me you actually think you could get the information out of Aes Sedai which she doesn't want to give?"

He looked at her straight in the eyes then. It was a dead-serious piercing look that told her in no uncertain terms: 'yes, I can'. It was disconcerting to see that much confidence in a man.

"Let's try to stay with the information _all_ of us are willing to give, first, shall we?" he said. "As I was saying, what matters is that once you came into these lands, you have been very surprised to find something that partly defies logic – a nation that shouldn't be there. But that's not all, isn't it?"

He left it hanging in there, looking her straight in the eye, baiting her to respond and continue speaking. The bait was strong, but she looked smugly back at him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. But this just seemed to make his interest in her grow. She could see it in his unflinching eyes. She certainly _was_ fazed by this bait he threw her, and was alarmed. Greatly. This was the first time she has met anyone this skilled in a conversation, and unlike her, he was _not_ fazed by her counter-silence at all. He continued speaking, as if the short maul-heavy pause was never there.

"You saw an opportunity here – A land of Manetheren risen from its ashes – and the calling of Aes Sedai has come to the fore in the shape of you taking hold of the relatively naïve people. To spread your influence. The White Tower influence. And who better to be on the receiving end of that influence than three young, inexperienced boys?" He took another smoke from that twig. For some reason, the smoldering point was catching her attention, her eyes following the motion, rather than the orator; most unsettling. It only added to the unsettling fact that he has read her intentions perfectly. She did her best not to shift on her feet, looking around, taking a nonchalant step or two instead, trying her best to make it look as if what he was speaking of was her birthright. It was hard, especially since this man – this blasted _man_, not boy – was giving her the fight of her life! And she couldn't, she just _couldn't_ move her attention away from him.

"However," he continued, exhaling and motioning with the smoldering point, "You found some resistance. A little bit more than expected. And now, things are changed. You _know_ situation is changed, because we have declared something that did not fit your impression of how things are supposed to be."

"And it isn't the way it is supposed to be!" she stated firmly as she stopped and turned fully toward him.

"By all means," he motioned to her, "speak your case, Moiraine."

She looked down at him with all sternness she could muster. Still, the man looked unfazed in the least bit. Even from where he was sitting, and thus looking up at her, his whole demeanor radiated as if he was the one stating the rules here, and that she was ungainly in her temporary height over him. It was a feeling hard to control, and she was sure that if she had not been trained in Aes Sedai ways, she would be all but bowing to him. It was inspiring to a degree, actually, to see someone who naturally commanded such presence, as a _real_ noble should have. But be that as it may, she had a job to do. Like a regal diplomat stating her case, she began walking around the room slowly as she spoke.

"When the World Broke thousands of years ago, a time of chaos and lawlessness ensued. People suffered under the villainy of local warlords who, in their self-proclaimed power, did nothing but bully others for the sake of fun. Poverty ran rampant, and ignorance above all placed fear into the minds of men. It all ceased after the White Tower was made. Slowly, but surely, its influence spread, and such men that preyed on the weak were placed in front of justice. People rallied to our cause – to the cause of preserving everything that made us what we were during the Age of Legends – and to the hope of a better tomorrow. That hope, we did give. Under the Concord of the Ten Nations, which came to be thanks to the diplomatic influence of the White Tower, world thrived in wealth, peace and prosperity.

"Manetheren was such a nation. And I don't need to tell you what it was like back then; you all certainly seem to remember via your recently awakened 'blood memories'. You should know that it has been one of the greatest protectors of the Concord, not to mention that your queen was Aes Sedai, and your king her Warder. Throughout the generations they have been spokesmen of the White Tower, and _that_ is what made Manetheren such a respected nation.

"Manetheren was betrayed during the Trolloc Wars. There's no denying that. But it was the work of one woman and the justice for what she has done has been served, and that should have been the proof to you that the White Tower deals with criminals no matter who they are, and that our justice is impartial. What you must see is that despite Ten Nations fell to the Shadow's onslaught, it was the White Tower that facilitated the establishment of the Nations of the Free Years. The White Tower survived and emerged even stronger out of the conflict, guiding the nations for a thousand years more. Not even Arthur Hawkwing could prevail against the White Tower when he laid siege on it. After he was gone, the White Tower remained, and helped to rebuild these New Nations of today."

She paused and looked sharply at each of them. Her voice was gentle, but withheld, like an angry person trying hard not to show emotion, the steel thickly covered in silk.

"And here we are. Manetheren Reborn. Manetheren, whose leaders, its overlords, have openly stated that they don't care of the White Tower's influence, as if spoiled children that want candy. Surely, you know that even though these lands are considered a part of the kingdom of Andor only on paper, what do you think would happen if the Queen was to find out there was a region in her lands claiming independence?"

Her voice suddenly increased in sharpness, a threatening scold.

"There should be no doubt in your minds that ramifications of your declaration would come in the shape of an army sent to quell the rebellion, and you should _know_ that the army would be far greater in numbers than what you would be able to deploy. Furthermore, you have surely understood by now that all of the nations are aligned behind the White Tower. Every king and every queen has an Aes Sedai advisor, and I assure you, if a rogue state were to be revealed, the White Tower would make sure that it would face all other nations as its enemy. Imagine: hundreds of thousands of troops on your borders, not to mention dozens of Aes Sedai, Warders and Tar Valon guard that would simply come and establish the power of the White Tower.

"And what would happen of the leaders of the rebellion? If it were up to the Queen, she would have you executed on the spot. No question about it whatsoever. The only thing – the _only_ thing, mind you – that could save you would be the mercy of the White Tower. And if you think that you can hide your presence from us, I assure you, you no longer can, because it would be my sacred duty to report a thing this great to the White Tower; or do you think you could stop an Aes Sedai? So I invite you to contemplate just how foolish your notion of defying the White Tower truly is."

She turned to look at their faces, fully expecting to see the onset of that unpleasant feeling closely followed by cold sweat. There was none. She was baffled. Perrin looked as if he could care less for anything, almost yawning. Mat was trying his best not to grin, and Rand… he just stared at her with that amused, unflinching icy gaze. Was she missing something?

"Is there something amusing about a possibility of an invasion and your subsequent death, _lords_?" she asked almost sarcastically.

Rand silently exhaled smoke in a stream.

"There will be no such thing as an invasion," he stated.

"So you have taken some sense," she said. "You will allow the White Tower to –"

"Miss," he interrupted her brazenly, then shot a piercing look straight at her eyes. "You misunderstand me. I don't give a damn about the White Tower, and I couldn't care less of what it has to say for itself. Truth be told, thanks to your words I find the White Tower to be nothing but a meddling institution keen on having its fingers in everyone's cookie jar and thinking it their Light-given right, which it isn't. What I _meant_ to say before you made assumptions of your own is that whatever invasion force were to attempt to take over Manetheren, it would be destroyed, and sent reeling back to lick its wounds. No matter its initial size."

She was, quite frankly, amazed and left speechless at the extent of this man's brazen attitude.

"That's ridiculous!" Lan said from where he was standing. "You couldn't possibly have more than five thousand standing troops."

"Five thousand three hundred and forty three," Mat shot from where he was lounging. "And it would be more than enough to stop an army ten times larger. As for larger enemies, we can conscript additional ten thousand men, all with basic military training and needed equipment on the standby, and with that we would be able to defend Manetheren's current borders against enemy of _any_ size indefinitely."

"Bullshit!" Lan blurted, to what Mat smiled a kind of smile Moiraine knew to be the one saying 'I know things that you don't, and I'll prove it to you', which not even Lan could miss.

There was a long pause.

"It is interesting reading your reactions, Moiraine," Rand said. "Though there is nothing I would like more than personally _showing_ you all the reasons behind our confidence, which will come in due time, it will have to wait just a little bit longer. For now, there is a far more important thing for us to attend to."

"Which is?"

"Like I said, it is most interesting reading your reactions. I'm sure you are familiar with the skills of interpreting one's body language, not to mention the complexities of that little game where you interpret the hidden meanings behind one's words that were actually spoken with the speaker's intent of them being interpreted or misinterpreted, depending on the situation. _Daes dae'mar_, was it? An interesting little game. Not nearly as interesting, though, as it is discerning what other person is trying to hide."

"You assume I have something to hide," she said, trying to make it sound as if that was not the case.

"I do not assume anything," he said, "You already told me plenty every time you kept your mouth shut. Though you might claim that your silence was a calculated move – that you were trying to make me question my assumptions – that's not the case, as someone that holds oratory skills as obviously high as yours, not to mention an innate inner serenity and peace all female channelers are endowed with, would be able to immediately spin what would be a completely opaque lie without a second thought."

"I do not understand," she said, genuinely confused. "It is known throughout the world that Aes Sedai do not lie. We _cannot_ lie. We place an oath upon an ancient Object of Power, called the Oath Rod, that we will never speak a word that is not true, and the Oath Rod will bind us thusly."

"I am aware of that particular 'truth' of the Aes Sedai," he said. "But how am I to know that? How am I to know that even your claim of placing any kind of oath isn't a lie in itself? There is simply too many unknowns, and I must question the very truth of whether Aes Sedai practice such a thing."

She tightened her lips together. Thinking back on their conversation, this man did just that, indeed.

"Then you would be the first man ever to do so," she said at last. "Most others do not question that. They are smart enough to realize that you cannot prove it."

"On the contrary, it proves just how little skill they have, not to mention the fact they're scared out of their pants," he said, almost chuckling. "You have them intimidated by the very fact that you can channel, and they are forced to trust you and push no further. I, on the other hand do not have the luxury of trusting you. Trusting people just on their word can bring unpleasant consequences. I can trust you as far as your words go. Tell me, Aes Sedai claim there are three oaths they give? What are they exactly?"

"Surely you have heard of them," she said, "so why ask me?"

"Indulge me."

She spread her palms off-handedly. "The second oath that me and every other Aes Sedai gives is that I will make no weapon with which one man may kill another, and the third one is never to use One Power as a weapon, except against Darkfriends or Shadowspawn, or in the last extreme defense of my life, the life of my Warder or another Aes Sedai."

He was silent for a short while, enough to inhale another smoke from his tabac twig and exhale it. His way of smoking was different than most men, she noticed; they usually puffed the smoke. This man appeared enjoyed long, deep inhales, letting relaxing features of tabac fill his system.

"Those are admirable causes," he said. "But they force a lot of limitations."

"A small price to pay," she said. "The Oaths have served as a means to ensure the White Tower's noble intentions in the eyes of common folk."

"Careful, Moiraine," he said. "Nobleness is relative. What you see as a noble act, might just be the foulest thing I've ever witnessed in this life of mine."

"Oh? And what might be so foul to you?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

His eyes narrowed as he frowned. It made him look more threatening than before. "Judging a man as guilty for something he had neither power over, or any say whatsoever," he said.

She was genuinely confused for a moment. "I... do not understand," she said. "The White Tower does no su–"

She felt her throat constricting. She was about to tell a lie. Though she was not aware of it consciously in the first moment, she knew the Oath did work on the things remembered on subconscious level. And something in her, some old thoughts and conclusions she made long ago had surfaced now. It was of male channelers. She had felt for a long while that the trial and accusations against them were... injustice. Yes, they channeled, but that's the spark they have been born with. They could not be accused as guilty of what they had no say in.

She halted her breath, realizing her stumble could not have been missed. She looked at Rand. His look was the one of knowing. He had raised an eyebrow in expectation that brooked no silence. He knew she was lying, he caught her in the lie, and his look was... It was so… so… ugh! Such a dominant expression! And being caught in the lie was so embarrassing that she barely managed not to blush. How did it ever managed to get from her threatening him to him sleekly pulling information out of her?

"Male channelers, Moiraine," Rand said. "They have no power over whether they will channel or not. Yet you deem them guilty for it. Is that right?"

"Those are official words and proceedings. There was a need for some kind of established procedure people's benefit..."

"The official noble act of the White Tower," he said, a slight tone of sarcasm in his voice getting through to her. "Utterly destroying one human being for the sake of all others. To me, that is disgusting. I find comfort, at least, that you seem to have realized something similar as well."

"That is my personal opinion," she said after a short pause.

"Like I said, I find comfort at least in that fact," he said, still deeply serious, his words sounding intense, heavy. "However, though this stumble works toward your claim of not being able to lie, it still doesn't prove it completely. No. What I want you to do is answer the following question only with a 'yes' or 'no'. Nothing else. Can you do that, Moiraine?"

Moiraine swallowed. She glanced to where Perrin moved closer to Rand's chair, looking at her with those golden eyes, resembling a wolf approaching his prey – her, that is. Mat, too, was interested, as he leaned forward in his seat, his attention all on her. This was beginning to look like interrogation. She didn't like it, but she took comfort with the fact that she was a channeler; what was that they could do to her, really? Still, what if they ask a question she can't find a good answer to? But she had to do this. She needed to gain their trust now, for if she did that, she could influence them later on. If she needed them to believe the three oaths, to believe she was a real Aes Sedai, then she needed to answer this, despite how distasteful the idea seemed.

"Yes," was all she answered, and waited for the question to be asked, fighting down the tension she felt.

His question was slow, precise, emphasizing every word carefully so that there was no way for her to misinterpret:

"Moiraine, are the _three oaths_ that you mentioned earlier the _only_ oaths that you have _ever_ placed on the Oath Rod?"

She felt a bit of relief. She could answer it, and it was not a difficult question at all.

"Yes," she said.

Rand looked at Perrin, who in turn was looking at Moiraine intently. Perrin returned the look, than looked back at her, saying:

"Heartbeat stable, no change in pupil dilation, no perspiration."

She frowned. Was he talking about her? What was the point of his words?

"What our friend, Wolfman, is saying," Mat explained, obviously enjoying her lack of comprehension, "is that you are telling the truth. Honest to Light truth."

"I don't understand," she said. "What would telling the truth or lying have anything to do with my heart and eyes?" She asked.

"Your heartbeat would accelerate, your pupils would dilate, and you would begin to perspire," Perrin said matter-of-factly. "That is a normal human physiological reaction when one begins lying."

"And how can you tell?" she asked suspiciously.

Perrin laughed. "Moiraine Sedai, you are the one that said I am a Wolfbrother. I have my eyes, my nose and my ears. They are a part of me, they make me what I am."

Moiraine was astounded. "Are you saying you actually have no problem using your wolf side?" she asked incredulously. "Did you not tell me when I met you that you'd want to find cure?"

He laughed so powerfully that the room boomed.

"I never said such a thing!" he said. "You have made your own assumptions. Remember I told you that you have no idea how exactly this nature of mine weighs upon me? You really didn't. I relish what I am. I could hear your heartbeats, I could see the tiniest changes of your eyes – be it your pupils, your eyelids, or simply where the real attention of your eyes was, and I could smell your lack of perspiration. It was as easy for me as breathing."

Moiraine was at a loss for words. He had really played her.

"Aes Sedai do not sweat," Lan spoke then. "They can ignore heat and cold at their will. There is no way you could have sensed her sweat. It is yet another one of those things that everybody knows."

"Actually, you'd be surprised what kind of things can be known in the backside of Nowhere," Mat said cheerfully, "but I'm amazed how you try to make a mountain of an unimportant little thing. Look out, Aes Sedai is going to kill me by not sweating!"

Perrin sniffed amusedly at Mat's taunt, then turned to Lan. "Sweat that comes as a result of an external source is not the same as the one that comes from the inside of your own mind. They are completely different. The external source is constant; one can adjust to it. Sweat from internal source? From fears in your own mind? No. Nobody can control sudden shifts like that."

Rand interjected: "Even blademaster's body reacts subtly to fear, even though his mind is controlling it from the safe confines the Void. So your argument holds no weight. But in the end, the cause is now irrelevant. What matters is that we have established that Moiraine _is_ who she says she is. That, however, has led us to a very important question we had previously left standing. Right now, it has turned into the most important question of all."

She found herself dreading his question. She knew the reason; she had realized so far that his questions were not unanswerable. And these young men... Huh... when did she stop thinking of them as boys? She sensed that these young men were picking her relentlessly apart.

"What is the question you wanted to ask me?" she said.

Rand leaned forward. "Moiraine, what is the reason you came to Two Rivers?"

And there it was. The toughest question he could have asked. How could she answer him properly, but without telling him anything? Suddenly, a spark of realization flared in her mind, and she practically begun yelling at herself:

_You stupid woman!_ _Don't you remember your own conclusions that one of the overlords might very well be the Dragon? That Rand might very well BE THE DRAGON?! So, stop your stupid game of trying to best him! You must lure him!_

She cleared her throat. Yes. The reason she came to the Two Rivers.

"I am a student of history," she said at last, "a collector of old stories. This place you call the Two Rivers has always interested me. Sometimes I study the stories of what happened here long ago. Here and at other places." [1]

"You haven't answered my question," he stated bluntly.

_Right,_ she thought, _he knows when you're stalling_.

"Like I told your friend, Perrin, I came here on a quest, seeking a means to fight the Shadow, like all Aes Sedai do. I had hoped to find a champion of the Light here. I gave him a proposition. I'm aware, now, that you all are aware of his cond... of his nature, and that men such as him harbor great hatred against the Shadow, the kind of hatred that demands action against the Shadow, rather than cowering in fear of it."

Perrin broke in: "But is a Wolfbrother the one you came here to find?"

"I do not know who is it that I came here to find," she answered sincerely. "I came here trusting the Wheel to weave my path as it wills, and take me where I needed to go. Was it a place it would take me to? A man? Men wear many names, many faces. Different faces, but always the same man. Yet no one knows the Great Pattern the Wheel weaves, or even the Pattern of an Age. We can only watch, and study, and hope. [2]"

She looked at each man's face in turn, hoping these initial words have confused them enough. Save for puffing his pipe, Thom was expressionless. Perrin looked as if her words have bored out of his life. And Matrim? Matrim looked straight at her with his lips pursed crookedly and the half-lidded do-I-look-like-a-moron-to-you look plastered on his face. It was obvious, to her own frustration, that she failed.

But then she looked at Rand. He had a slight frown, but his eyes were riveted to her. He had made some kind of realization of his own. He spoke then:

"I gotta hand it to you, Moiraine, that was a nice go-around," then he shook his head gently. "Ain't gonna work on me. You came here looking for someone, yes?"

She only looked at him sharply. He nodded.

"Who it is you came to find?"

"I told you, I don't know who he is," she said truthfully.

"What makes you so sure it's a 'he'?" Mat interjected. "I wouldn't mind hearing more about this person if it was a 'she'."

"I have my own reasons," she said after a slight pause.

_Dammit, they're getting too close,_ she thought vehemently. Rand leaned forward, his eyes gaining such predatory intensity that it was as if her eyes were feeling the heat of a real fire.

"So, you do not know who he is," he said. "But let me ask you this: do you know _what_ that man is?"

Her eyes turned even sharper, and she stared him down, trying to convey all sorts of bad things that could happen to him if he pushed any further.

"That is the matter of the White Tower, and I will not speak of it," she stated firmly.

"And were it any other kind of question, I would not have to ask you, for I would already be sure. However, this matter is very important. More important than anything else. Mere assumptions won't do. I urge you to tell me the whole truth."

"Who do you think you are to meddle in Aes Sedai business?" she finally burst. "You, sir, are a mere man. Your needs weight little."

"You're becoming obstinate," he said with a warning tone in his voice.

She glowered down at him. "And I suppose you would like to try out a way to take the information out of me? Something that would resemble a method the Children of the Light, would use perhaps?"

"Hardly."

"That's right," she nodded, "there is nothing you can do to make me tell you the information. These games we play might be amusing, but woe on you if you actually try my patience, for I will not hesitate to use the One Power to teach you a lesson."

She turned toward Mat; she wanted to give him a piece of her mind, as well all others. But then, just as she took breath, something happened. It lasted but an instance.

She perceived it like a deep sound that resembled a clap of a mighty thunder far, far away, or maybe of powerful ocean waves crashing upon towering cliffs. It was just on the edge of her peripheral hearing, but it lingered, caused all other sounds to be dulled. And just like a thunderclap, it carried with it a clear, tangible feeling of a massive wave passing through her body, enveloping her, and making all things clear. Yes, it was a sensation of absolute, Light-blessed clarity.

Her head turned to look at Rand. It was clear to her that it had to be so. It was like he had become a magnet, a beacon that everything was drawn to; even her. It was as if a tunnel between them was made, dulling down everything peripheral, and all her attention was riveted on those two angry grey-blue eyes. And everything was clear.

His voice was heavy, powerful, reverberating through her being in a multitude of harmonics.

"_**Moiraine, I need to know the truth of why you came here. Right now."**_

It was all clear to her; a genuine feeling that the right thing to do was to obey his words. She was not hypnotized. She was very much aware of everything. She felt deep dissatisfaction and plenty of fear that she was telling these things, but the clarity she felt told her it was the right thing to do.

She heard her own somewhat shaky voice:

"I came here seeking the Dragon Reborn."

There was a short pause. She could tell all other's eyes were on her. Lan quickly took her by the arm, trying to stop her.

"Moiraine!"

Then, there was another voice: _**"Let her speak!"**_ Said Mat sharply. Moiraine saw a change on Lan, and he removed his hand from her. She could tell that he was experiencing all the same things as she was. She returned her attention to Rand.

"_**What makes you think the Dragon has been reborn?"**_was the second question Rand asked her.

"When I was but a Novice at the White Tower," she spoke, "there was an Aes Sedai called Gitara Moroso. She had a talent of Foretelling. I was present with her, when on the day of the Battle of the Shining Walls she screamed. I remember it as if it were moments ago. Her exact words were: '_He is born again! I feel him! The Dragon takes his first breath on the slopes of Dragonmount! He is coming! He is coming! Light help us! Light help the world! He lies in the snow and cries like the thunder! He burns like the sun!'_. And that was her last breath. She died instantly after that."

Slowly, the magnet that held all of her attention on him dissipated. The sensation of clarity faded away. All that was left was realization that she had just given away one of her most guarded secrets. Just like that.

_WHAT, in the name of all that's holy, did just HAPPEN?!_ Her mind screamed as her hand went up to seal her lips. She could swear just then that if her eyes widened more than what they just did, she would be scooping them off the floor. But what _was_ it?

Rand had asked and she answered without a pause. No, wait, he didn't even ask; he just stated his need, what he needed to know! And she felt the strangest urge to tell him. Was that Ta'veren effect? Could it be that it came right at the moment he needed it? Incredible! And it was so powerful! The stern expression on Rand's face and unfazed expressions on Mat and Perrin told her that whatever had just occurred not only happened before, but was a relatively common thing. But she was alarmed now more than ever. On a reflex born of self-defense, she reached for the Source, the safety it provided, letting it surge through her. If need be, she would defend herself.

She saw a change in Rand's face. His eyes became alert on her, and then everything happened again: the feeling of clarity, the tunnel-focus on him, except that this time, she felt _saidar_ slipping away from her. It was not like a rock-hard channeled shield that blocked her, it was not like the Source was gone; it was more like when one holds another person's hand, and the person gently but surely pulls it out. As if _saidar_ refused to obey her. Rand, in turn seemed to look somewhere deep in her core, as if focusing on something, before he re-focused his eyes on her.

"_**If you don't mind,"**_ he said, **"**_**I'd rather not have this room ablaze. So, if you'd be kind enough not to reach for the Source anymore? At least for now."**_

And she did so. Why? She couldn't say. The only sensation that she had felt was that it was the right thing to do – obeying his wish. How could he know she took hold of the source? And there, as the sensation of clarity left her, was when fear punched out through her core. A fear so powerful that the last vestige of her regal demeanor evaporated, and not even her Aes Sedai training could stop the rising bile of panic and hyperventilation in an attempt to remain focused. Why was this happening?! And why was she feeling that her obeying those words was _the_ thing that mattered?!

Lan had already sensed her panic, and had reached for his sword to defend her. But before he could fully draw it out, Mat spoke once more.

"_**Don't you fucking dare,"**_ he spoke from where he sat._** "Did we attack you? Is she hurt? No! So sheath your damn sword! And settle down."**_

And Lan did as he was told. He sheathed his sword and sat down on a chair close by.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to scream in blind, impotent rage. All of the control she had – she _thought_ she had – was brutally swept away from her. All of her Power that had kept her sure of herself all these years was gone. And there was nothing she could do about it. Blind, impotent rage.

She saw a pair of legs in front of her. It was Rand. He crouched down, took her gently under her armpits and hefted her off the floor upon which she had sat down. When did she drop to the floor? She never noticed. The strength of his arms and the bulge of his muscles under her fingers felt incredibly real compared to the surreal feeling of the whole situation. This was the man that took all that power away from her.

She hated him, right about now. She hated him like a pouty child that did not have its way hates its parent, and what's worse, she was aware of it. The helplessness was one of the same kind. There was nothing she could do to him, and he knew that.

Then, why wasn't he doing anything about it? He had the power.

"What are you going to do to me?" she asked tightly, still not looking up at him.

She felt him move his arm, and he cupped her chin in his fingers, lifting her eyes to him. Her coal-dark eyes burned toward his in consternation, defiance, expecting to see a gloating gaze or something similar. But to her genuine confusion, she could see no malice his eyes. The only thing she could see was calmness and seriousness. And sincerity.

"I will give you choice," he said gently.

"Choice?"

"There's always a choice. Right now, you must be angry. Beyond angry. I know that a person such as you does not like when her power is taken away. But you know that you can't do anything to us, or against us. There is no way that you can exert your power here with us. You realize that, don't you?"

There was a short pause. "Yes."

"So," Rand continued, "The first option will hurt your pride the least. You will leave Manetheren, and never come back. You go your way, we go our way, and never meet again; just like it is done when two powerful kings hold enough respect for the other to avoid each other. Whether you ever manage to find the Dragon will be solely up to your good fortune, and decisions you let your pride make for you."

She was silent, contemplating for a moment.

"And what is the other option?"

"The other option is that _you_ make a decision instead of your pride. We will sit down, then. Calmly. Peacefully. And then, we will talk."

"About what?"

"Whatever you wish," he said, then raised his finger. "One condition, though. No bullshit. No twists or turns or hidden meanings. Only bare, straightforward, cruel truth. This mask," and he waved his hand slowly across her face, "it must come off. No ranks. You are Moiraine. I am Rand. And we will talk."

"What's the catch?" she asked suspiciously.

"The catch," he said, "is that you will have to stay here, with us. Everything you wish to know or learn will be at your grasp. But you do not object us. You do not defy us. And when in certain cases we need you to do something, you will find wisdom on your own to heed us. We, in turn, will not take advantage of this, nor use our abilities on you against your will. And we will help you in everything you need help with."

She was silent again. Though, in her mind, she had decided. There was no way she would accept the first choice. She had spent so much time seeking the Dragon, and by Light she would be near him. These conditions he posed will be only an obstacle to be dealt with one way or another. And she would find a way around those obstacles. She would play to his game, but would always work whatever she could for her cause.

"Alright," she said. "I choose the –"

"You haven't heard the final option," he interrupted her gently, but firmly.

She looked up, expectant. What now, she thought. What could be the third option? Could it perhaps be better than the second one?

"The third option," Rand said, "is pretty much the same as both the first and the second option."

She frowned. "But they're contradictory."

"Not quite. The final option is if you choose to stay here... but allow your pride to make a decision for you. It will mean that you will stay here with us, but never be with us. Everything you wish to know will be in your reach, but will never truly be in your grasp. You will not object us, but you will spend your time finding every possible way to defy us. And when in certain cases we need you to do something, you will do it the way you think is right for us, but in your defiance, you will certainly make it so that it will not help us. And in turn, we will be forced to use our abilities on you. You will hate us even more. But this time, your pride will deny you the right to leave. Not without winning. But you will always know that you cannot. And in the end, it will only consume you."

She swallowed a lump. She noticed her heart was beating faster, and perspiration, like a million small fingers crawling over her forehead.

"It's alright, Moiraine," Rand said. "You do not need to choose between the second and third choice right away. There will be time. Now, how about we sit?"

She looked at him for a few moments intently, accusingly, before she closed her eyes and let piece come to her. She then moved to sit. He helped her sit down on the ottoman, then sat beside her.

"You've been up and about since dawn," he said, "traveling and then standing most of the time. Have you even had a decent breakfast?"

"A quick meal."

"And you found it fitting to go into Master al'Vere's Inn where the specialty of the week is warm, honeyed wine? No wonder you ended up on the floor earlier."

She looked up at him accusingly. "That was not entirely my fault."

His light-hearted laughter was... warming. It was the kind of laughter one simply couldn't hold a grudge against. It was strange how he seemed to almost be two different persons when angry and not.

"Well, it's lunchtime, and you must be starving by now," he said.

She opened her mouth to tell him she was alright, but her stomach rumbled loudly, making her shut them immediately. She remembered how hungry she was.

"Right," he confirmed, then looked up at Perrin. "Call Mistress Dalene, would you? Instruct her to bring lunch for six in here."

Perrin took a deep breath and seemed to look far-off for a couple of moments. "Done," he said.

Moiraine looked at Perrin incredulously, then at Rand. "Did he just…"

"Yup," Mat said instead.

She breathed out and looked at each of them in turn. What in the World has she gotten herself into? Thom approached her then and placed a sympathetic hand on her shoulder.

"I told you they were next to impossible to handle," he said, then smiled. "Don't worry Moiraine Sedai. Think on all the things you've witnessed so far in this bustling young nation. Multiply it a thousand fold. That's how much you'll be gaining. And more."

What has she gotten herself into, indeed?

* * *

><p><em><span>References in text<span>_

_[1],[2] Eye of The World, chapter 2 – Strangers._


	5. Chapter 4: Plans

_**Author's note:**_

_Here it is. Another chapter. I know it's been a while, but I can't apologize. The truth is, I never really felt like writing, and I didn't want to make any... forced chapters. My mindset was focused on something else, preoccupied with many practical things over the past year, and I simply never felt the pull of literature. Better that way, I guess... better than trying to write and realizing you have a writer's block, anyway; saves a lot of grey cells._

_But now, when I wanted to continue this story, I felt like writing a bit of the Three – the protagonists of the series. That's what this chapter is about. You won't see me trying to mimic the original personalities here; I never even considered doing that. What you'll see is my interpretation of their friendship... you'll see how I like to see them. And here you'll see a few important things for the story – reasons and explanations as to what should come next._

_**DISCLAIMER:**__ I do not own Wheel of Time or any of its characters._

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><p><span><em><strong>Chapter 4 – Plans<strong>_

_Tel'aran'rhiod_ was a strange place. One could argue that everything in it was both real and nonexistent at the same time. An echo of everything that ever existed in every parallel universe reflected itself in one part of the Dream World or another. One just had to know how to go about finding it. And there were many ways how it could be done. Memory was the easiest. Both the memory and the mind that held it had to have almost tangible strength for it to work, but if the two were ever to find one another, there would be few things that couldn't be done...

The towering glass skyscrapers of Paaran Disen reflected the soft light of _Tel'aran'rhiod._ There were dozens upon dozens of them, each different and unique, yet beautiful in its slick form like a living monument of creation. None of them bared the crude construction every other building of the Third Age had; and that even included the majestic White Tower built after the Breaking. The shadows they cast were almost nonexistent, but the gentle breeze could be felt, the translucent, blurry echoes of the flying vehicles could be seen, and their gently-whizzing engines heard like a distant hum. There were echoes of people there, too. Many, many of them. They walked across the high walkways, hanging gardens and parks. One could hear them like millions of whispers that carried an occasional laughter, clear as a pearl in the ever-present hum. Yes, millions upon millions of people. An inconceivable number for a kingdom of today, let alone a city. Yet, it had existed once.

Mat moved his eyes from the panorama that lay beneath him and focused it on a tiny glass of clear liquor he held in his hand. He sat on a small round lounge table, his legs resting on the table top. Glass table top. Another thing of disbelief for anyone who never saw one before. Not to mention they were sitting on what was called a cafe-terrace high on one of the skyscrapers. More than a thousand feet above the ground; and that was not even near the top of the building.

He lifted the glass of clear liquor to his lips, letting the unique aroma waft up to his nose before downing it in one go. The fiery warmth spread through his throat, and the flavor of lemon filled his nostrils. He sighed with pleasure.

"Ah... lemon-flavored vodka. Absolutely beautiful. Unlike anything there is in the Waking world. Too bad this one here won't give any nutrition. I sure would like to gauge its potential for intoxication... not to mention hangover."

A laughter came from where Perrin sat across from him.

"Sometimes I get amazed at the level of nut statements that come out of your mouth," Perrin said. "Don't get me wrong; I like the drinking part. But a hangover?!"

"Every drink is different, and it should be cherished as such. And that includes hangover," Mat stated, and then his voice turned almost pained. "I just wish that the secret of distilling this damn fine piece of art was not lost in time." He then turned his head, nodding toward Rand. "Are you absolutely sure that that freaky head of yours does not hold it hidden somewhere in there?"

"I wish," Rand said as he sipped his own drink while he leaned against the terrace's fence. "I liked vodka when I was Lews. I gave effort to memorizing every single brand and flavor, and I even did it while holding the Source. But the exact process of making it?" he shook his head. "It had never crossed my mind."

"Yeah, thanks a lot." Mat said sarcastically.

There was a long moment of peaceful silence, broken only by the ambient sounds.

"Are we going to talk of what happened today?" Mat ventured.

"Is there something special you want to talk about?" Rand said.

Mat rolled his eyes and shifted, looking quite irritated. He dropped his legs from the tabletop with a loud thud, leaned forward on his elbows, and pointed a warning finger at Rand.

"Now, don't you give me that crap, you hear? Why are you doing it? There is no Moiraine here. There is no Thom, no Egwene – heck, there are no wolfs for that matter. There is only the three of us. We've been through some nasty crap together, and here you're acting up like you have a broomstick up your ass."

"More like a construction beam," Perrin muttered.

"Precisely. So cut the psychiatric crap, mind-games, whatever you call it, and sit down. And drink."

Rand was silent and unmoving for a moment. His face was somber, eyes riveted on his friends. Then, he bottom-upped his glass, and just like that, the refined, educated overlord al'Thor of the Two Rivers puffed out of existence.

Rand stretched the bones in his neck and shoulders and opened his eyes. A different, more loose and unbound man looked at his friends.

"You know what? You've got a point, there, brother," Rand said with a gleam in his eyes.

"Damn right I have a point!" Mat said.

Rand dropped down on his seat and flicked his glass, sending it spinning across the table top. Mat caught it and refilled it from the present bottle along with his and Perrin's glass. In truth, he could have used his thoughts to wish the glass to be filled, or simply never for it to be emptied – one could do that in the World of Dreams – but that was just not it. There was something real in the ritual of filling the glasses and serving them to friends. When he finished, he raised his glass for a toast, and was promptly followed by the other two.

He looked at Rand and said:

"Here's to the meanest son of a bitch around, Rand al'Thor. The way you handled Moiraine today was a bloody work of art. May that skill never leave your side!"

The bottomed their glasses and slammed them furiously against the desk.

"Now, that's what I'm talking about!" Mat said with intensity.

"I hate to be the party breaker," Perrin said as he leaned forward, "but what are we going to do with Moiraine?"

Matrim suddenly seemed alert. "Yeah, that. Good thing you reminded me, I almost forgot!"

He focused, his eyes dancing almost imperceptibly as if he was sifting through a rapid stream of images. He was navigating through the pathways of the Pattern, the other two knew, seeking specific links between the Dream World and reality. But suddenly, his eyes flew open.

"Sonuvabitch!" he said with a surprise. "Moiraine has her dreams protected with some kind of back-flip bouncing loop. She's rooted in the spot like a damn oak tree! There's no bloody way for me to draw her in here."

"And why, in the name of all that's holy, did you want to do that?" Rand asked slowly, emphasizing words.

"Oh, you know – the usual."

"No, we don't," Perrin said deliberately.

Mat crossed his eyes. "I wanted to make her appear here in some form of nice, revealing Age-of-Legends-style lingerie, personally bestowed upon by yours truly, and then watch her reaction."

"And again, I ask you – why?" Rand pressed on.

"Well, Randy, my man, you're not the only one that wants to take the haughty Aes Sedai down a notch or two, rattle their cages, and make them look as cute and confused as they can get! Just the right time to take advantage of them."

"Now, hold on, just one damn moment..." Rand said, lifting a finger.

"Oh, come on!" Mat interrupted him. "Did you see the look on her face back then when she first came to us? You could practically see her fighting between holding her composure and throwing a tantrum like a little girl. Priceless! I'm telling you, that kind of reaction comes only from the kind of women that boast that they can shrug off lecherous looks, but that holds true only when they are prepared for it; and who knows what kind of dream and what kind of state of mind would have I pulled her away from had I succeeded now. You all know that dreams tend to be pretty irrational. And what's the harm? You know as well as I that she would attribute it to a weird dream when she wakes up."

Rand shook his head with a smile. "I swear, one of these days, you'll be the death of me."

"Said Reason to lady Luck, yet here we are," he smiled in return.

Rand leaned back and crossed his arms at his chest. He looked in turn from Mat to Perrin as if contemplating something, taking that contemplation to himself as he looked at his own reflection in the window.

"Remember when I once said that we are now men?" he said at last.

"Yeah?"

"I take it back."

"Why, Randy, you make it sound like it's a bad thing," Mat said as he refilled their glasses.

"No," he grinned lecherously in turn. "Men will always be boys, and women will always be our precious toys. Light knows what they think of _us_ in return, anyway," he added.

"That we're a bunch of lummoxes that need to be housebroken, yoked, and so on," Perrin commented offhandedly. "And if we're especially unruly – that we are a bunch of wild animals."

"A compliment!" Mat cheered and emptied his glass.

"You know," he started after he slammed his glass down, "I think that this here is the real us. Not that mask we wear in the Waking World."

"_You_ have a mask in the Waking World?" Perrin said, seeming genuinely shocked.

Mat spread his arms. "I rest my case," he said, to what they all laughed again, the sound echoing against the stone walls, remaining clear and strong despite Dream World's habit of dulling the sounds down. As the laughter subsided, they were left in a moment of silence.

"But you know what?" Perrin said, as he looked around the city, shaking his head gently. "He has a point. This world... it's our refuge. Here, we are alone, and nobody can spy on us. Not really. Here, we can be ourselves. Here, we can go all out without anyone else witnessing and telling of things that would be interpreted as 'unbefitting' for a lord."

"It cannot be helped," Rand said, withholding a sneer. "People of this day and Age are... simple. They are easily manipulated and tricked. They lack spirit and their minds and hearts are full of fear. If there is any chance of us winning the Last Battle, they must have something to hold onto; something indomitable. Amazing, isn't it, how a person publically calls for freedom, yet is willing to completely give it up in exchange for safety? That's why we do this charade of presenting the image of unerring lord."

"What a load of crap," Perrin growled, though he understood completely. "A lord is a person of flesh and blood that pisses and shits just like anybody else, and here I have to pretend I'm something almost above human."

"That, Perry, my friend," Mat jumped in, "Is the _exact_ reason why I am a _general_."

And again, they laughed.

"But you know," Perrin continued, as the laughter died down, "we really need to discuss things."

"Yeah," Rand conceded, and they all gained somber expressions. "Anyone want to go first?"

Mat lifted his arms up in resignation. "What the heck. If you won't dedicate this moment to relaxation, what's the point of me doing it alone? So, I'll go first; this thing has been nagging on me this entire day, anyway. Remember day before yesterday, when I said that I started feeling something recently?"

Rand nodded, to what Matrim continued. "Well, five or six days ago, I sensed the first tangible vibrations. At first, I thought it was the regular thing in town, like someone was about to knock someone down or knock someone up – which would result in your regular pitchfork chase down the streets – so I disregarded it altogether. But then it remained throughout the days and intensified. That made me think. You know, it's rare that the dice start rolling, but this was..." he looked up at Rand significantly before continuing.

"Today it was not just vibrating anymore – it was quaking! And you know how this thing of mine works; it's like a feeling of something big rolling toward you, like a crushing tidal wave – it seems small at first, but you can't actually gauge its distance from you. So it keeps getting bigger and bigger as it approaches, without any way of assuming exactly how big before it is right on top of you and slamming into you. Well, on the scale of _powerful_ events, this thing seems slightly above average so far. But it's growing, and it's growing fast.

"Do you sense a direction from where it is coming?"

He leaned back, lifting his arm toward some perceived distant point. "All I can say is that it's coming from the direction of the Mountains."

Rand frowned. "It might be another wave of refugees from Tarabon or Arad Doman, but that does not hold water. There were no new wars there, or we would have known about it."

Perrin seemed to be in deep thought.

"Mountains, you say..." he mused out loud. "Now that you mention it, there's something else that bothers me, and it concerns the wolves. For one, they're gone."

"Gone?"

"Gone. As in: not here." He took a deep breath. "Now, wolves don't normally leave their territory behind. They only go as far as not being seen unless threatened, but this is something different. We can sense each other, even when in danger, and there was a distinct feeling of great alert a couple of days ago that came from the Cheerful."

"Wait, is that the name of the pack that has those white wolfs?" Mat asked.

"No, that's Shadows," Perrin said. "Cheerful are... were the smallest. Only six of them."

"Were?"

"Were," Perrin confirmed grimly. "They're all dead now. Killed.

"By who?" Rand demanded.

"Not human, and not animal. If it were humans, we would have known about it. If it was an animal – a bear, for instance – they would have retreated. But they didn't. They went for it, whatever 'it' was, and were killed." Perrin shook his head. "Damn Bushwack was always acting in the spur of the moment, and his pack members were never far behind him."

They were silent for a moment.

"Did the other wolves say anything?" Rand inquired.

Perrin shook his head. "They have retreated. Four packs, Rand. Forty-three wolfs, and they all just went into hiding. I don't blame them – the females are close to rearing the new generation now – but it bothers me that they retreated deeper into the mountains, some thirty, forty leagues into the mountain ranges... It's too far for me to reach out to them with a clear thought. It's just not right! They have left their territories behind! It's not something they do lightly."

"Do you have an idea as to what it might have been that has spooked them so much?"

Perrin shrugged. "The only thing that comes to mind are... Shadowspawn."

There was a silence.

"A Trolloc this far South?"

"Not a Trolloc," Perrin said. "Trollocs. Plural. And not just a few of them. Otherwise, the packs would have come down upon them like a scourge."

Mat frowned. He turned and pointed toward an empty patch of air, where a moment later a large vivid map of the Continent sprang to life by his bidding.

"It could be theoretically possible for a small Trolloc company to go southward," he said as he pointed out the approximate route. "They could cross Saldaea via World's End – those rocky cliffs are sparsely populated – and then it would be only a few hundred leagues through the sparsely populated area unclaimed by any nation, until they reach the far northern foothills of the Mountains of Mist. From there, they could theoretically reach as far south as Amador. But there are a lot of things in that whole equation that don't fit. For one, assuming that that Trolloc band managed to slip past Saldaean light cavalry, it would mean that they would have to be small in number in order to remain unseen. No more than twenty – maybe thirty, but that's pushing it. That number would have been bled away by mountain wolf packs long before they passed out of Arad Doman's borders." He turned to Perrin. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but wolves don't retreat unless they're heavily outgunned, right?"

"Right," he said.

Mat exhaled loudly. "Then, my friends, that means we have ourselves at least one fist of Trollocs in the Mountains. One hundred or more strong. Which pretty much beats any standing theory on how they could possibly get so far south unnoticed." He turned to Rand with a raised eyebrow. "You're sure that Shadowspawn cannot pass through channeled gateways, right?"

"Absolutely," Rand said. "Neither Shadowspawn, nor any kind of artificially created organic or semi-organic construct."

Mat passed his fingers through his hair. "Well unless they poofed out of the thin air or popped out of the ground, I've got noth-" He stopped mid-word, his eyes wide and intent in the distance.

"You've got something." Perrin stated.

"Maybe," Mat said. "Perrin, that wolf pack that got themselves killed – Cheerful, was it? Tell me where their territory was."

Perrin puffed a breath of air as he formulated the answer. "Toward south-east part of the Two Rivers, but deeper in the Mountains. It went from the Oakwood grove, up the foothills all the way to the foothills of Maneth peak. A radius of some thirty miles."

"Does it include the site of old Manetheren?" Mat asked.

Perrin nodded. "Yeah, it does, but there's nothing there anymore."

"Except the Waygate," Mat said.

They were silent for a short moment, letting the thing sink in.

"Could it be possible?" Perrin asked. He then looked at Rand. "You're supposed to be the closest thing we have to an expert on the matter here. What do you think?"

Rand shifted in his seat, placing the ankle of one leg across the knee of the other – as was his way when he was in deep thought – and started tapping the desk with his thumb. He seemed grim, focused, and intent in his internal calculations.

"It is possible," Rand said at last. "The Ways were made after Lews' time, so I don't hold any practical knowledge on them, but that's not the issue here. The basic scientific principles responsible for their functioning are known to me. The problem is that neither Waygate barrier, nor the Ways themselves seem to have the nature of a channeled Gateway. It was an acquaintance of Lews, named Theron Dechlaan Venor, and his team of scientists that made them, that much I can be certain of; they went almost all the way in their research of ancient Portal Stones, and the Waygates resemble them in nature and working principles. And that means that the Shadowspawn might very well be capable of passing through.

"From what I have seen, though, the Ways are corrupted, big time. I can't be fully certain yet, but I do have a pretty good theory on why. What I do know is that they are not safe for the living person to be inside, and that includes Shadowspawn as well. Despite their lack of soul."

"Not being safe does not mean they are completely non-traversable." Mat pointed out.

"Well," Rand said, "there's one way to find out. Come on."

They all rose from their seats and went toward the terrace fence. One by one, without any pause or hesitation, they jumped on it, and then leaped forward in an eagle dive. The air around them rushed as they accelerated down until the accelerating buildings and the quickly approaching concrete dissipated like an air barrier. Suddenly, the gravity shifted, as they had passed through different areas of the Dream World. They were no longer falling down, but gliding forward through the air. They willed themselves to decelerate, and stood in thin air high above the Dream World's echo of the Mountains of Mist. The presence of the mountains as an unmovable object, at least, was strong.

"There," Mat pointed at the area of woods.

If they had been on the ground floor, none of them would be able to see anything. The stone blocks that once made up Manetheren had been destroyed in the One Power's searing, and whatever remained had deteriorated into sunken, earth-covered and unrecognizable rocky outcroppings. But here in the air, one could clearly see the difference. There, where the stone foundations of buildings and massive ancient walls once were, the trees grew thinner, forming distinctive lines in the green.

The three of them descended into the thickest patch of trees. Those trees had grown from the seeds of Ogier-sung trees that had survived the searing buried underground. There, they formed a thicket around a stone Waygate.

But the scene was not right.

There were many broken bushes, broken branches and signs of massive disturbance to what should otherwise be a forgotten, deserted place. The ground showed signs of large activity. There were many tracks that shifted and changed due to the Dream World's nature, but one could see clearly that they weren't human tracks. Hooves and large boots, as well as huge bird foot tracks dotted the ground. And the Waygate was shifting between being open and closed. The knowledge of what might be happening here did not sit well with them.

"Bushwack?" Perrin suddenly said.

The others turned and saw a large, shaggy grey wolf standing not far from them; or his spirit, to be exact. This was, after all, a sort of an afterlife for the wolves.

"I didn't expect to see you again, Bushwack," Perrin said again. "Not this soon after your death, anyway. What has happened here?"

The wolf's intent golden eyes passed from him to the Waygate, then around the area, and finally back at him again. He communicated, but only Perrin could hear and understand. After the wolf's tale was done, Perrin exhaled slowly, anger evident in him.

"I'm sorry, Bushwack," he growled. The wolf shifted and communicated again. For all that has happened, he seemed cheerful. Perrin sniffed. "Only three? You're getting sloppy. Courser and his pack would have gotten at least five Trollocs before succumbing."

Bushwack seemed to actually snort derisively, to what Perrin laughed. "Allright then, I'll be seeing you. Say 'hi' to others for me."

Bushwack turned and trotted away cheerfully before disappearing. Perrin returned to the other two, and he was fuming.

"It's as we've feared. It's Trollocs. Bushwack and his pack had happened upon a group of about twenty of them that came through the Waygate."

There was a grim silence.

"So, now we know," Rand said grimly.

"That's not all," Perrin said. "There was a Myrddraal leading them."

Mat and Rand were suddenly alert. "Only twenty on one Myrddraal?" Mat said. "Excuse me, but unless the Shadow is conducting funding cuts, that number is too small! I mean, look at this place. If the tracks are to be judged, there must be ten times that number in here!"

"I think I know what happened," Rand said. "As much as I've seen of the Ways, the directions are written in Ogier script. Trollocs can't read that. It is quite conceivable that the ones that killed Bushwack were one of the scouting parties sent out to find the way through the Ways. That kind of thing would demand a lot of resources; a lot of Trolloc power split into smaller groups and led by Myrddraal. And when they found what they were looking for, then they would send for the main force."

"Whoa, now hold on," Mat said in anger that was born of caution. "It seems like you're saying it was Manetheren gate they were seeking specifically."

"Mat," Rand said. "There is not a doubt in my mind that they came here because of _me_."

Matrim clenched his teeth. "Damn it," he said. "And here I hoped they were responding to a love letter. "Single ugly Trolloc seeks another for mindless destruction in Andor" – there, how does that sound?"

"But what is their intention?" Perrin said, ignoring Mat's rant. "Are they here to assault us? They will need a lot more than two fists to strike against any of our towns, let alone Emond's Field."

There was a grim silence. Rand seemed different. He had grim determination in his eyes.

"They will most certainly attempt to seize Emond's Field sooner or later. Likely, once they establish a siege noose, they will start with propaganda, most likely a show-off of power, with some brutality, and a promise of not hurting anyone if we comply with their demands. That, of course, would be a lie."

"The one which we would not fall for," Perrin almost shouted. "We are Manetheren! We know better!"

"It might not be that easy at all," Mat said. "If I wanted to wage a Total War, I would not choose means to win; I would use _every_ mean available, no matter the brutality. That includes raids, pillaging, bleeding the opponent down. A war of attrition – the one we would be hard-pressed to win – that would put us behind a hammer which is them, and an anvil which is the general population whose estates are being burned and are seeking help. And, of course, there are always acts of terror, torture, hostages... Shadow does not shirk from anything."

Perrin hissed through his teeth before almost roaring. "And once the ground is ripe, they would perform an all-out attack."

Mat nodded grimly. "That's how we lost the Trolloc Wars," he said silently. "_That_ is why we couldn't rise again afterward. Because too much has been destroyed already."

They were both furious. They both had awakened genetic memories in their minds, where the memory of the past burned like a still-fresh wound. And they wanted to scream in blind, impotent rage. Suddenly, they felt arm on each of their shoulders. They looked up to see Rand's firm expression. His jaw was clenched, and his eyes conveyed leadership he always seemed to have in important situations.

Suddenly, the scenery around them shifted as Rand raised them high above the Waygate, and above the forest. They floated so high above ground that they could see the curvature of the planet, and the Two Rivers beneath them as if on a platter.

"It is different this time, my brothers," Rand said. "Look around you. Look where _we_ are. _We_ are different. This time, you have me. This time, we have girls that were trained to be combat-worthy channelers. And this time, we have cannons, and repeating crossbows and a hail of bolts. And we know that they're coming. But most importantly, _most, most_ importantly, we have access to tactics that these nations of the world are too blind or stubborn to see, let alone employ. So let the Trollocs come! We will destroy them."

The rage Mat and Perrin felt lost the impotency, and gained focus. They placed their hands over Rand's and nodded.

"So... What does the great general of the Age of Legends suggest?" Mat asked with a smirk.

Rand took a deep, contemplating breath.

"Well, what do you think of a sensor grid?" he said at last. He pointed down at the Two Rivers beneath them, and willed a series of glowing dots, tactical lines and points of interest to form. "If the Shadow wants to assault the outlying fields, then that's where we'll foil them. The girls would use the One Power to deploy a kind of sensor webbing on strategic spots across the Two Rivers, and couple it with traps."

"You want to wither their numbers once they attack the farmlands?" Perrin asked.

Mat looked to the map, then to Rand with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. "No, that would be the stupidest tactic ever," he said. "It's something your average field commander would do – which _would_ work against human or Trolloc-only army – but not when there's a Myrddraal that can sense weaves of Power. No, Perrin; our wise friend here is making a deterrent. He wants to force their hand by making them unable to harass the countryside, and have their focus shifted from pillage to siege of Emond's Field early on."

"Where we can control the situation and obliterate them," Perrin realized.

"The weaves of the traps must be relatively inconspicuous, though," Rand said. "Myrddraal are unable to see what the weaves are exactly, but we need them to think it's a sloppy work of one or two untrained channelers at most, placed around farms as a deterrent from bandits or wolf packs. We don't want them thinking it's an aimed act, and thus discourage them from assaulting the town."

"And the woven sensor grid would make the additional patrols be completely unnecessary, not to mention ineffective," Mat said. "It will serve us to trick them into thinking we're not aware of their presence. In the end, we drive them to our own battlefield and wipe them out."

There was a short silence.

"You said it as if it's not a victory, Mat," Perrin said.

Mat nodded. "You're right. It's not." He spread his arms out and looked pointedly at his friend. "What after? Will Shadow leave us be? I don't think so. There will be battle after battle – just like it was two thousand years ago. Do you have any memories that spark to life? Manetheren won the first battles again and again. But Trollocs kept coming again and again. This here," he pointed to the lands far beneath them, "this is exactly the same. And this winter? It will only make matters worse."

"You're right," Rand said. "But I think that the fortune may yet be on our side; and that there is a very neat solution to all of our problems."

"Really?" Mat said, as he folded his arms across his chest. "Well, if you have something, I'm all ears, brother."

"First, it's the matter of this winter. I'm positive, now, that the Shadow has influenced the weather patterns by twisting a few important constraints in a wrong way. While it could be corrected with a _Weather Lens_ –"

"All our attempts of finding one have yielded bupkis." Mat finished with a nod.

"And there won't be enough time to find one," Rand continued, and shook his head "To think that here were about three hundred _Weather Lens_ ter'angreal throughout the World, all used to control weather, and now, we can't find a single one." He took a deep breath before continuing. "However, there's another option: use huge amounts of the One Power to sledge-hammer the Shadow's influence, sending it reeling."

"Explain," Perrin said.

"I think that the Shadow has used a butterfly effect."

"You mean affecting one small point in time-space and let the chain of events do something big?" Mat said, and smiled. "Yeah, I love doing that; a perfect thing for making pranks. But what I do is small. If what you say is true, then it means that the Shadow tampered with the probability of events on a big scale; numerous tiny events, going back years."

"Which would mean it is growing stronger," Perrin said. "The prison is weakening."

"Yes," Rand said. "In theory, I could use a very small amount of Power to set things right. The pattern is perpetually interconnected; everything you do, no matter how small or insignificant, can leads to something huge, and a small amount of Power at a proper moment of time and space could do the trick of reversing the Shadow's influence. But it would take time for it to take root – a time we do not have."

"Thus, the use of huge amounts of the One Power," Mat nodded.

"The question is," Perrin asked, "can you could make that kind of Power?"

"No," Rand said after a moment. "Even if I had a proper circle of channelers, I would be hard-pressed not to burn-out. But recently, I've begun sensing that there's an external source that would be more than enough."

"Where?"

Under Rand's will, the image of the curved horizon shifted suddenly as he focused it like he was using a huge magnifying glass, and a glowing pillar of light formed near the foothills of the Mountains of Dhoom.

"There," he pointed.

"That's... inside the Blight." Perrin said.

"Wait a minute," Mat interrupted. "You said you sensed it. Does it mean it's _saidin_?"

Rand nodded.

"It must've been there since the cataclysm itself," he said. "The only reason I can sense it at all is because I've spent an idle afternoon in meditation. It just came to me, like it was meant for me to find it. I think that I must go there and use it, as soon as possible. The way things are going, this weather is already threatening to become permanent. Besides, that much Power might draw unwanted elements as well. Light help us if it falls into the wrong hands."

"Alright," Perrin said. "That is one of the reasons why we have to leave the Two Rivers. But what about the people? They would be left without our protection."

"No," Rand shook his head. "The Shadow is here because it can sense us, smell us out. If we were to leave, we would draw it toward us. Make no mistake about that."

"That's the second reason. Anything else?"

"The final reason is Moiraine." Rand turned toward them. "The fact that an Aes Sedai had finally found her way here means that there will be others in the future, sooner or later. It is the signal that we need to begin our work on the world scene, to begin diplomacy and ensure the foothold for our nation; the time for that is long overdue. Also, setting the World on the right path is a paramount. My paramount. '_The Wheel of Time turns around Tar Valon, and Tar Valon turns around White Tower_', and as far as this primitive world is concerned, that might as well be the truth. That means that it is Aes Sedai who we must attempt to drive on the right path."

"And Moiraine?" Mat said, then grinned. "I mean, don't get me wrong – I'm all for keeping her around, if you know what I mean – but, uh... it might get messy on the long run, especially if she decides to go about her way once we clash with the Shadowspawn here in Emond's Field. For all we know, she might even go out on some one-woman crusade, or something."

"I'll deal with Moiraine," Rand said, then turned to Mat. "You deal with Lan."

"Hey, how come you get to deal with all the pretty ones?" Mat poked him.

Rand raised an eyebrow. "You want to deal with an Aes Sedai whose head is full of the White Tower and just causes, not to mention a significant dose of nobility about her?"

There was a short silence as it sunk in.

"Point taken," Mat said.

"Atta boy, Mat," Perrin tapped him on the shoulder. "Keep that up, and Thom will keep his worthless copper coin in the bottom of his forgotten pocket."

"Hey, hey! I have a plan, I'll have you know!" Mat defended firmly with both his forefingers raised in warning to them both.

"Fine, fine," Perrin interrupted him impatiently. "We'll leave you to your plan. Meanwhile, Rand, tell us what was your idea with Moiraine? She had had an eventful day. We took her to see the big steam engines, as well as Iron Works, Lumber Mill and city's water supply. She must have had her fill of smelting heat, steam and saw dust for a while."

Rand smirked. "Right. I was actually planning on showing her the South Wing."

"That early, huh?" Perrin said.

"And depending on how she behaves there, perhaps I'll show her the Basement as well."

"Now, wait a minute," Mat said seriously. "Are you absolutely sure that's wise so early on?"

"Moiraine is a good person, Mat. She can be trusted, and I just feel it. There is something about her that I like. I will not use the word 'guidance'; it is blind and handicapped that are guided. True, what I do with her will be on my terms, but I want to point things out for her, and let her choose on her own; just like I did this afternoon."

"Gee, I don't know, Rand," Mat smirked. "Lews I met all those years ago did have a 'mean sergeant' streak."

"Yeah," Rand reminisced. "Lews was hard on me, too. But then I realized it actually worked wonders on many of my issues. It's only right to be a bit harsh on yourself. Anyone who says otherwise is a lazy slob. Besides, you turned out okay, right? Although, I don't know if it was Lews' influence or your innate Cauthon blood that's responsible for the womanizer you've become. I mean, who knows... perhaps, by the time I'm done with Moiraine, there'll be a new sexual predator in town to which all women will fall for."

"Yeah, like I'll ever let him... wait, _what_?!"

His only answered was Perrin's hearty laughter.

"Ohhhhhh, I knew it!" Mat called him out with a broad grin. "You _are_ a randy son of a bitch, Randy! I always knew it. Who knows what a various array of pervy – hey hold it right there! Where do you think you're going? This ain't over!"

"I'm going to sleep, Mat," Rand answered as he moved away. "And I suggest you do too. If we go now, we'll get some five hours of real sleep, which should be enough, but I wouldn't advise any more dallying here." He stopped and turned toward the other two. "We will talk in the morning on the specifics of employing our strategy against Trollocs. Meanwhile, I suggest you get some sleep."

"Easy for you to say," Mat said. "It's not your thoughts that are occupied with a pair of naked and sweaty female bodies, damn it!"

"Oh, don't worry, Mat," Perrin shook him on the shoulder. "I'm sure that there will be a girl tomorrow morning that won't be able to walk properly until noon."

Mat looked at him incredulously. "You're not helping!"

"I know."

And with that they all faded away from the Dream World into their sleeping consciousness.


	6. Chapter 5: The Shattering of the World

_Author's Note_

_Hello guys and girls! It's been a long time coming, huh? Well, I had a major case of writer's block, to tell you the truth, which was suddenly resolved – just like that. Incidentally, it immediately coincided with me getting my master's degree in engineering about a month ago and graduating from college. Well, here it is: a new chapter of 15000 words. I had an inspiration burst and wrote 25000, then realized I'd have to cut it in two chapters. Do you know what that means? That's right – there's another 10k words in the process of being extended and polished as you read this! May be posted within one week's time, even (no promises, but have in mind that this chapter and more was written from scratch starting about a month ago)._

_**DISCLAIMER:**__ I do not own the Wheel of Time series, nor do I own any of its characters._

* * *

><p><span><em><strong>Chapter 5 - The Shattering of the World<strong>_

The blood was pummeling in his ears. The early morning air was crisp, sharp, every intake of air slashing through his lungs like a thousand razors before the empowering numbness would encroach. Then, it would just feel as though his lungs were trying to burst out.

And he just kept going.

His muscles were burning, faltering, or trying to do so. But he wouldn't let them. His inner voice was roaring:

_Don't quit! Don't give in! _

It was roaring at him over, and over, and over, chanting it like a mantra until it would fuse into his body and soul and become a part of him. It was loud, and clear, almost as if someone was standing right there letting him hear the chant with his own two ears:

_This is the part where you reinvent yourself every single day; the part where you get tested. The part where you test your will, where you test your endurance, test your heart, test your limits. It's about no days off – no weekends, no holidays, no birthdays – listen to me, no days off! Why? Because you are the Dragon Reborn. You are the greatest. You are the strongest. You are the epitome of the highest excellence the human kind has to offer, and it is you right to prove it!_

And it worked on his body like a charm. The fists stayed raised, the body kept the stance, and the muscles kept carrying him forward through the merciless assault against the human-sized punching doll. Millions of tiny droplets of sweat were spraying through the air every time his knuckles, or his palms, or his elbows, or his knees connected, sending shocks through his bones.

"_It hurts,_" one side of his mind was agonizing. The weak side. The dark side.

"_Yes, it hurts_," the other side was roaring back. "_Of course it hurts! No one got stronger because they idled in their comfy chairs drinking whiskey! But you know what? You can take it. You can grow on it, because you are the one that is capable. You are the one that has the character. You know it – you have the talent, but that's not enough. If you don't strengthen your character, your talent will take you places that your character can't keep you! It hurts? Yes, it hurts! So, show me your character! Show me that the talent that was given to you can actually have a point!_"

A burst of air raced from his lungs and through his bared teeth in a low roar, sending one final, brutal punch straight into the doll's face, ripping it up and sending the stuffing all over.

He took a moment to steady himself, resting his hands against the doll's shoulders and leaning down, allowing himself time for his breathing to settle down. His heart was hammering, his muscles were burning, and his lungs were trying to burst out of his chest. And it felt bloody great!

"Huuuuhhhh," he exhaled with a rumble, then took one last big breath of air before straightening up in order to speak:

"How long have you been standing there?"

He meant it as a simple, civil question. It came out like a bestial rumble, in an exceedingly deep, raspy voice of someone not caring much about civility. Too much strain he figured.

"For a little while," Moiraine said as she slowly stepped out from behind a hedgerow, showing no ill regard for his tone. She passed through the stone archway into the separated part of the garden slowly, carefully, as if she was picking where she was going to land her foot as she walked.

"Where's your Warder?" he asked.

"Over there, at the moment," she pointed toward a building with a tower that could be seen from there. "I believe it is the barracks? He goes wherever he pleases and does whatever he pleases; we're not tied at the hip. It just so happens that he is interested in soldiering."

He nodded, then spoke haltingly with a rumbling voice. "So… he went to play with our soldiers… while you came to play hide and spy with me?" he chuckled and shook his head.

"I'm surprised that you knew I was there, at all," Moiraine continued. "I did use channeling to hide my presence, after all."

Rand turned to look at her over his shoulder for the first time. She looked nearly exotic in a blue dress slashed with cream, heavily embroidered cloak, a golden waist band, bracelet and the kiseira chain across her forehead. Yet, she still maintained that regal air about her.

Sneaky little minx, he thought, as he straightened out, breathing hard and fast as he took a few steps around, sweat pouring and dripping like rain off his face.

"You're surprised?" He laughed trough powerful gasps. "Really? After yesterday?"

She shrugged and nodded in assent.

"I do remember, and I know our deal. But I still have to try," she said, a small smile appearing in one corner of her lips. "I have to always try."

Rand took a deep breath, wiping down of the sweat that was raining down his face, nose, and chin with his bandaged forearm, and then chuckled.

"Women! You just never give up, and I should've known better." And then he pointed a finger at her and nodded. "But I do like your character."

She smiled amusedly, but turned her head slightly to look at him sideways, as if slightly bewildered; as if trying to find some hidden meaning behind his last statement. He had to laugh despite his fatigue.

"Don't analyze it, Moiraine!" he said tiredly, with a slightly vicious grin on his face. "When I say something, I say it clearly… without some hidden meanings. Hiding is unproductive… and I have no interest in that."

And yet, despite all that, he could see that the gears in her had were still turning, still behind the mask of that blasted serenity. _Ah, the good old female Aes Sedai serenity_, he thought. He couldn't believe how much a part of him both missed dearly and hated it at the same time. Amazing; it hadn't changed one bit after all these millennia. He puffed some air, then explained with pauses for breath:

"Your attempts at bending the rules... while fully aware that there might be consequences… that shows initiative. I like that. Women are notorious for trying stick their nose where it doesn't belong… but you're one of the rare ones that do it consciously and stand behind what you do."

"And, you're supposed to be an expert in women?" she inquired, letting amusement past her serenity.

"Oh, every man is an expert," He said breathily as he stepped toward her, fighting the powerful need to gasp for air as he began to unwind the bandages that were protecting his knuckles and wrists. "Every man is an expert on women… just as every woman is expert when it comes to men. That… is just the nature of things."

"From what I had seen wherever I've went, that doesn't seem to be the case," she countered. "And I've traveled _a lot_."

"That's because all people act stupid and do the one thing they shouldn't."

"Which is?"

"They think too much."

She made the 'you're joking' face, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. "They act stupid because they think too much? How is that even possible? Pray tell."

"That, my dear Moiraine," he breathed hard as he threw the used bandages down next to the other practice gear, before looking straight at her. "Is because universe likes irony."

He grabbed a towel and began to wipe the sweat off, turning around and starting to pace around the open grounds, allowing his body to cool down and his heart rate to drop down. As he turned back toward where she stood, he caught her look; a mysterious look, as if measuring him up, just like she was doing it the day before, only this time… more deeply.

"Well, I can't deny that statement you've just said," she said at last, before her look changed to one of pensive concern.

"You seem to be quite a bit winded," she said as she stepped toward him, raising her hand. "Let me help you."

He felt a sudden rush of goose bumps on his skin.

"No!" he said sternly with a raised hand. She stopped instantly on her own, with her hand frozen mid-air, giving him a questioning look.

"No healing. There is no need for it," he clarified.

"Are you sure?" she said with a raised eyebrow and glanced toward the ragged punching doll. "That exercise seemed extremely tenacious. I've seen many Warders in the White Tower work hard at practice, but none of them drove themselves as hard as that, and they were still beyond exhausted."

He took a deep, steadying breath and let it out in a slow and deep, pensive rumble.

"In order for you to understand why I exercised so hard, even though you do not see the point of it, you would need to step into a man's mind," he started.

"Us men have a need inside of us to be the best. That need might differ in intensity from one man to another, but it is always there, floating in our flesh and blood. That is how the Creator made us, and there is no _point_ in us trying to be something else than live up to it and be competitive. That need is what drives us, because if we achieve it, it is then that we feel personal satisfaction.

"Women have that need too, you see; it just manifests in a different way. I don't expect you to fully understand, Moiraine, but this strain in my lungs, this feeling that I have in my body and muscles – that is just one layer of the thing that gives me satisfaction. Every human being wants to defeat adversity and achieve satisfaction in some way, and doing it in the physical way is how men are built. It's a _good_ thing! It is a reward my own body is giving me for a job well done.

"I don't know how great that need to be victorious is in Warders, but in me it is great. Huge. It drives me forward, telling me that I must achieve something. I. Not somebody else in my stead – only I. Call it ambition, or even unhealthy obsession, or just plain insanity, but there it is. That is who I am, and I've decided to take it up as a sword, and shield, and banner of honor. Can you understand my standpoint, at least a little bit?"

He could see that she was contemplating his words carefully. Was she really taking it to heart, though, or was she just trying to find a way to him through them? He couldn't be sure. You can never tell with women; some do, some don't.

"Then, can I at least delve you?" she asked, at last. "I promise not to do anything else."

"Delve?" he raised an eyebrow.

"It's a channeling technique for examining the condition of one's body so that we know what might need healing," she clarified in a manner as if she had had that question asked countless times before by many prone-to-be-scared common folk.

"Oh, that!" he relaxed. "Around here it is known only as '_sky_' – an Old Tongue word. We know few names the White Tower Aes Sedai use."

He motioned her closer, and as she approached, she raised her hand and placed it to the side of his face.

He felt a shiver run through him. _Yes,_ he thought, _this is the female form of _sky._ It hasn't changed one bit in all these thousands of years; just like it was back in the day._

Moiraine withdrew her hand slowly, and breathed. She looked up at him with wonder in her eyes.

"Interesting," she said. "It seems that what I see in your body confirms your claim."

"Really? What did you see?"

Moiraine shook her head.

"It is hard to explain," she said. "First off, your body seems to be on fire, almost burning up, but without the presence of an illness."

"Well, that's what body does after hard work," he chuckled.

"Yes," she nodded, trying to pass a point, "but unlike other people I had delved or healed after the exercise, there's something different about your body."

"Which is…?"

She was silent for a moment, regarding him with a serious look before she spoke.

"Whenever I delved Warders after workout, the depths of their bodies were drained. Tired. The fire of their body was degrading the body itself. There was a sense of fading that always meant severe languor. Some of them weren't having those symptoms, but greater part was, especially the novice Warder trainees. You, however… while your body is heated up like theirs, everything else in your body is opposite. It's not degrading, or fading. It is charged up, surging with life that keeps growing. Your body is renewing itself, as if…"

He waited her out.

"As if it has just been healed by channeling."

_Ah, so that's it_, he thought.

"Between the bodies of men you had previously mentioned, and my own body, there is no difference at all. The difference lies here."

And there he pointed at his head. He waited a moment, looking at her to judge her reaction. She was intent on him. Not like a pupil, but like some kind of judge or juror. That was good.

"The difference," he continued, "is how you perceive great physical strain. I perceive it as a good thing, because I happen to know exactly what it does to me, both in physical and mental way. They, however, most likely perceive it like they would any ordinary pain – that it's bad thing."

Moiraine smiled that small, mysterious smile of hers.

"An acquaintance of mine from the Yellow Ajah once told me something like that," she said. "It was that positive thinking improves healing, while the negative impairs it. What about you, Rand al'Thor? Do you think that kind of thing makes any difference?"

"It makes _all_ the difference!" he said, his voice booming powerfully. "I'll tell you now that there are many men like me in the world, and I'd be willing to bet there are many more right here in the Two Rivers, as opposed to out there. The reason why you or any of your sisters never healed men like us is because we don't perceive this strain as something that needs to be healed, but quite opposite – something that heals us in turn."

He turned abruptly and took a few steps toward the center of the garden, spreading his arms wide and turning in the spot, looking around.

"Look at this place," he said. "This place is my temple. I come here every day, and have been doing so for years. It is _not_ a refuge; it is _not_ a place where I come in order to run away from the world, but the place where I come in order to sharpen my weapons, to be able to tackle anything that comes my way."

He looked back at her, and yet again, there was that annoying little smile on her lips. No, not annoying… not really; but it did poke into some part of his psyche that thought it was, he figured. She saw something of him, he realized – something that he unintentionally revealed to her, and was smiling a smile that reminded him of a mix between a mother, a sister, and an old friend.

He lowered his arms and walked back toward her leisurely.

"And here you are," he said with a smile of his own, "Smiling like you've got some huge secret. Just what is it that I made you think about?"

She looked him straight in the eyes, and was silent for a little while, and he could see she was contemplating.

"You made me think of you," she said evasively.

"That thing again, eh?" he chuckled. "There are many ways a man could understand that, but he'd only pick one. What would you do if it was Mat instead of me?"

Moiriane's tiny smile widened to reveal her teeth.

"Probably be trapped in a fruitless banter in which he would try to begin his wooing campaign with the sole purpose that he could later clam that an Aes Sedai had helplessly fallen for him."

He had to give her a respectful nod of approval.

"Perceptive," he said. "Not bad!"

"I was not born yesterday, Rand al'Thor," she said matter-of-factly. "Though I will admit that there were no men as refreshingly brazen, nor as amusing as he, there were many that tried to earn my favor. While common folk are afraid of Aes Sedai, many of the more adventurous young nobles see it as… an adventure."

"Hm," he smiled. "That still doesn't answer the question of what was it exactly that you were thinking about."

She turned to a bit more somber shade of a smile, and spoke:

"When you were there," she nodded toward the center of the garden, "Basically doing none other than showing off what you are, I was reminded – or rather, I could see it for the first time, to be precise – that no matter what kind of a mature mind you obviously have in that head of yours, the fact remains that you're young; when it comes to years, you've only passed out of boyhood. It might not be a bad thing – and in fact, it might just be the thing that is needed – but the point is that it affects your thoughts and actions more than you might think."

They were both silent for a moment, maintaining eye contact. It was not a stare competition. It was two people sharing a silent understanding.

"Yes," he said at last. "I am young. It has its advantages, but maybe... maybe it might just be a good idea to have someone like you around, then."

"You don't see me as someone limiting your options?"

"Not limiting. Anchoring. There is a lot of fire inside me; I am not that blind as to refuse to _really_ look at myself in the mirror. There needs to be someone to be my anchor. Mat and Perrin cannot do that, as they are like me. Our parents could be that up to some point, but that was naturally weakened once we became Overlords, and it was weakening even before that. You can say that all three of us need anchor, and that would need to be you."

He smiled sinisterly, then.

"Do not be conceited, though; you have no idea how hard it is to be an anchor for blood-boiling, hormone-driven young man. Besides, limits themselves – as you've so conveniently mentioned them –are a good thing. They can be either limits that are to be surpassed, or limits on which you are to count on as something to fall back onto."

He stepped around her and picked up his shirt from where he had left it before he started his morning practice, and donned it on in a single sweeping motion. He spoke, as he started to button it up:

"Most people, however, see limits in an ultimately completely wrong way."

"How so?" she asked.

"They run away from them," he said as he finished buttoning up, and donned a rich-looking all-black vest. "Instead, they should be bending the boundaries to their needs."

"And what about that point where bending the boundaries turns into selfish misuse?" she asked softly.

"That is where your personal principles as an enlightened member of a human kind come forth," he responded.

There was some silence again during which she regarded him.

"You are really an interesting person, Rand al'Thor," she said after a little while. "Barely a man in body, yet more than a man in mind; one cannot but wonder why is it so. Whether it's a good thing or bad, I cannot say. And what will you do, I cannot possibly fathom."

"Eat."

For a fleeting moment, the look in her eyes was that of a confused puppy.

"I'm sorry?" she said in confusion.

"You asked what I will do. I'm going to eat," he clarified, and smiled. "You are right when you say that my body acts like a body that has been recently healed – it craves nourishment."

"How do you know that?" she asked suddenly with a serious tone. "I thought that I was the first Aes Sedai that had come this way in generations."

He pointed a finger in a general round-about direction.

"This place is crawling with female channelers – remember?" he said.

Moiraine looked at him sideways, cautiously.

"Yes, I remember," she said. "I need to meet them, Rand. I know I cannot strong-arm you into arranging it, but would ease my mind greatly if you did. It would only be proper."

That was the truth, he supposed.

"You will meet them. I'll take you to them today, in fact," he said and watched her give a small nod. It was exactly somewhere between the 'thank you' nod, and 'good, it's as it should be' nod. _Don't be so eager, Moiraine,_ he thought to himself; she might find herself in a bit different situation than what she thought. He suppressed a chuckle – _like that hadn't happened when she arrived here already_.

"Alright," he said, looking toward the sun that had risen two of its width above the horizon. "Now that that's settled, why don't you join me for breakfast? You hadn't had any this early, have you?"

"No," she admitted.

"Good. Give me a moment to pick up my gear."

"Let me," she offered, and before he could move, he felt goose bumps on his skin again. The practice gear he had brought – a bag and his sword – lifted up into the air, spinning gently around each other and took their place next to Moiriane.

"Thanks," he said.

"I am Aes Sedai," she responded somberly.

He couldn't help but smile. He really liked her. He could feel it in her, in fact. There genuinely was a part of her that believed in what Aes Sedai were supposed to stand for.

The rumors and the stories of Aes Sedai of this age were not as flattering at all, but looking at her, things might not be as bad as the rumors and stories make them out to be… or maybe, Moiraine was simply unique. Whatever the case, there just might be hope for them.

The breakfast was laid out for them already when they had reached the great chamber where Moiraine had met them the day before. It was a breakfast for two, which was a courtesy of his Ta'veren ability. He didn't tell her, of course, but she didn't seem surprised by this, either; as if it was only to be expected. That was good, he thought. She had absorbed a lot of things yesterday, and there would be many more that she would have to; her ability to adapt would be tested. Especially if she were to meet the girls today. Marisa, Luartha, Airin, Ailene especially… most of them would be okay. Even Nynaeve, he sensed; she would be a firecracker at first, but Nynave was by far the smartest one. Egwene, though… that might be the greatest problem.

It was a nice breakfast, light one with almost a perfect mix of meats, cream cheese and salads. It was his usual kind of breakfast, the one that he made specifically for his early morning needs so it sits well with his exercise and later duties. Moiraine seemed to have taken to it well enough. Not much of a surprise, he thought, remembering how real _rash'an_ salad tasted like. This one was a copy, without some of the more exotic ingredients, but it did well enough.

"So, tell me, Moiraine," he ventured as they were finishing with their meal. "Is the room to your satisfaction?"

Moiraine looked up from where she was looking sideways at where he had left his sword. It was a heron on the scabbard that had caught her attention; that much was obvious. She was not wondering whether the blade was real or not, he knew. What she was wondering was whether he knew what he had in his possession, and if he did, whether he had earned it. _Long time ago, darling. Looong time ago._

"Oh, my room was exquisite," she said as she turned to him. "It was quite spacious, the furnishings quite luxurious. It was a room worth of a noble. I'm amazed that you have managed to procure such nice furnishings for the Palace."

"Not just the Palace. Many of those furnishings are made here, in Manetheren, and you can see them in many houses."

"Ah, that's right – I forgot; the spinning mills and lumber mill, isn't that right? Still, you didn't have to go to such lengths to provide it for me, though. Sleeping in an Inn is not something that should be considered inappropriate."

"Don't be ridiculous," he chuckled. "I know that you've gotten used to it, and I know that you don't think it beneath you, but think about it this way: who knows when it is the next time you'll have a real bed to sleep on, not to mention the silk, the cotton, the plush mattresses… now that you're here, you get to be pampered a bit."

He leaned in a bit and spoke in a goading, conspiratorial tone:

"Are you trying to tell me that you would have skipped the chance at one of our bathrooms?"

She smiled and looked up at him with a focused look. He could see it in her eyes, though; she couldn't hide it. She was completely and utterly _awed_ at what the bathroom that was adjoined to her room was like.

"That," she said pointedly, "was the single most amazing thing I have ever seen when it comes to… how should I call it? – a group of water utilities, perhaps?"

And, there it was. He had to smile. It was nice to see her like that. Her need to speak of it with someone was obvious, yet it was interesting to see her keeping it under wraps of her noblesque Aes Sedai demeanor. She kept talking:

"I have traveled to every country on this side of The Spine of the World, as well as independent cities, and I have never seen a whole room dedicated to personal hygiene as was the case here! There are bathrooms in many Inns, true; many have washbasins in the bedroom, even a mirror, but even if all those things were to be gathered and placed in a single room, it wouldn't even be remotely comparable to what you have made here."

"Why, thank you," he smiled smugly. "In fact, we do call it in a single name "utilities". Your mind obviously works along the same lines as ours'. An encouraging thing, don't you think?"

"That remains to be seen," she said, but she did not lose the little smile.

"Hm. So, tell me, what was it that you found the most interesting in it all?"

"I wouldn't know where to begin," she said. "A toilet seat with the ability to use water to cleanly flush the refuse down into the sewers, instead of a night pot? Or, maybe the hot water in the pipes, which is heated by a great boiler tank with the furnace in the basement section of the Palace? The faucets with valves? Light - the running water itself that enables all of it! I just don't know how to even weight it out."

"Maybe you should say it was the steam machine that's the most amazing?" he ventured. "After all, the largest of the three we had shown you is the one that provides the running water for the town."

Her face turned somber for a minute, pensive, as if she contemplated things on a grander scale of things.

"That machine was a bit intimidating, I have to admit," she said. "Seeing something as huge as a peddler's wagon, hissing and its large jointed levers moving up-and-down under the pressure of steam… it reminded me of some kind of a gigantic insect. Before seeing it with my own eyes, I would never believe that such a large construct of metal could be made.

"It's the strangest thing," she continued with a look of amazement. "When you showed it to me yesterday, and when Perrin took his time to carefully explain how it works, the way steam is harnessed by pistons which in turn roll the great axels… It was a kind of revelation… or better yet – a realization, of how much we fail to see. I mean – everybody knows that steam from boiling water will push the kettle's lid, but who could have thought that it could be harnessed in such a simple manner!"

Rand laid the fork down and spoke:

"That's because that kettle, that lid, and that steam are to you and to all the other people just a thing that's _there_; a thing that simply _is_ as it is, always happening when the water boils in the same manner, never changing, and you simply take it for granted, and you _think_ that there is nothing more to it, nor wonder as to _why_ is it as it is."

He could see the gears in her brain turning, thinking, comparing and connecting the dots that were facts as she looked into the distance.

"You have a point," she said at last. "When one looks at it, one cannot think anything but that it had emerged from some fairy tale, the Age of Legends, even, instead of being made here and now, by none other than ordinary people, ordinary craftsmen, using nothing more than a single natural phenomenon that had always existed.

"Yet, when you look again, that machine is just one brick of a larger construction – just like water pipelines, the sewers, the Ironworks, the lumber mill, and all those other production facilities in this large town. Just like your Town Council."

She looked at him, with a studying look.

"Just like Mat, Perrin and you are. And that construct is this New Manetheren that you're building… a Manetheren Reborn… something that has the potential to be even greater than before. I have to admit that when I came here yesterday, I thought that this land was just an upstart province which thought that it could get away with it because of its isolation, while actually not knowing heads or tails of what it takes to make a country.

"Seeing you, as well as Perrin and Mat – well, perhaps not Mat," she corrected as she stifled a smile, "but seeing a bit of you makes me think that perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps Manetheren _can_ rise up from the ashes."

"And, what makes you think that now, if you didn't yesterday morning?" he asked.

Moiraine stood up and started walking slowly around the chamber.

"It's not one thing on its own that made me realize it," she said. "It was all of it together – all of those little things, little ideas that were implemented simply by looking at it from some other point of view. The way of harnessing steam that none of us ever took notice is but one of them."

She was standing next to the tall window now, looking out toward the waking town as she continued.

"It's just like everything else around here. The ideas are new, intriguing, and above all, they do have a purpose. The basis for all of the ideas existed already throughout the rest of the world, true, and Light knew there _were_ people smart enough to make usage of it, but it's just as if…"

"Yes?" he urged her.

She looked back at him with a pensive frown.

"It's as if out there nobody cared," she said.

"Nobody cared, huh," he mused. "Then, tell me this: if a single man were to appear at Caemlyn, or Cairhien, or maybe even Tar Valon, carrying with himself all of these ideas for inventions and machines – would anyone care?"

She was silent for a moment, thinking, before speaking in a firm tone:

"Oh, they would care, in fact." She said. "They would care by branding the man a loon, and would take it upon themselves to make him be looked upon as someone who's putting his nose where it doesn't belong; that he is forgetting his place. They would make his life hard, and if he were to push the matter, he would have been forced into exile by his peers. I think that that is the reason why they stay where they are."

"And now you see the problem," he said, then joined her as they looked through the window. "I was afraid that this would be the case in the rest of the world, even more so than it used to be here in the Two Rivers. Thom Merilin was the first to speak of those things, but you are the one that now only confirms what I thought. Fear rules people. This world and this life is hard. It has always been, since the dawn of Creation, and it will not change, but in this Age, it is especially hard. People have so little that they are afraid of losing even that little that they have. It goes beyond holding themselves back – it goes to the point where they make themselves _believe_ that they don't want, and that they don't need anything more than what they have."

"Like the tendrils of Dark One's evil, don't you think?" Moiraine asked him then.

"Oh yes," he agreed with a grim voice. "Fear is the Dark One's greatest weapon. Not rivers of Trollocs, not their dark commanders, the Myrddraal, nor even the Forsaken. The true war, the true Tarmon Gaidon will not be one glorious battle to end it all; that one is just a final stamp. The true Tarmon Gaidon is battle for human hearts and minds.

"Do I believe that the greatest cause to all of what's happening in this world fear? Yes! And not just any fear. A grand, collective fear. I can only judge by what I've seen in the Two Rivers, but I'd be willing to bet that it's even worse in some other parts of the world. You have seen this many times, I'm sure: young men and women wanting to leave their home and go on some small adventure – an adventure just for them, one of self-discovery and simply seeing the world with their own eyes and understanding – wasn't that the case on your travels?"

"Everywhere," she said simply.

"So, it's true," he nodded. "And what happens is that other people that surround those young individuals – be it a town, a village, or their very household – prevent them from doing this simply by telling them this one big "What If" over and over and over again, until they instill enough insecurities so that those young men and women truly stay. They'd say: 'what if you get robbed', or 'what if you starve', 'what if you find that it is not what you thought it was', or 'what if you get yourself killed – do you even know what kind of dangers lie there?', all those many 'What Ifs'

"So they pummel them with it, calling them senseless for even thinking about it, and most people accept it simply because they are afraid of being ostracized, while the truth is that the society_ itself_ is afraid. People around them are afraid, because if this one man or one woman goes forth and achieves their 'senseless' dreams, it will mean that the lives of all of those nay-sayers have actually been wasted by not trying it themselves. And they don't want that illusion to be broken, because it hurts. It hurts _so bad_, and the worst part is – they're not even aware that _that's_ the reason they're doing it!

"And thus they're is imposing their opinion upon those few individuals, forcing them to conform, telling them that they should stay where they are and that to have any kind of special goals or desires, or even a radical idea is wrong!"

He looked at her questioningly, spreading his arms wide.

"What's going on here, Moiraine? Where's all that leading to? Most people live in quiet desperation not even being aware that they despair! They grow up and go through life _pretending_ that they don't have any kind of special goals or desires, when in fact they really _do_ want more. They block themselves and they use those words almost like they're in a trance, like they've placed horse blinders on their own eyes solely for the purpose of not being distracted from their small lives because they're scared of seeing what's out there.

"Humans are very reasonable creatures, Moiraine. They will find perfectly good reason to block the incredible potential they have within themselves just because they have decided to do so!"

He stopped just then, taking a deep, calming breath. He had worked up a fire, he realized. Moiraine's gaze was plastered to him, focused and alert, as if she was unconsciously absorbing everything there was about him.

"That is what Two River's used to have been," he continued after a moment. "That is the thing that I had spent great effort in order to _make_ people overcome it. But from what you tell me, that was only a small thing compared to the rest of the world."

She spoke then, with a breathy quality of her voice, as if she had been running.

"The rest of the world would benefit if people were to become like this," she said. "The human kind would."

"Yes," he said doughtily. "But it cannot be done by one man or a group of men just running around and spreading the word. It would be too slow! What one needs is a solid base that he can point out to the rest of the world and say: 'See? There's the thing I'm saying manifested. It has already been done, and is _being_ done by so many other people, so why can't you do it?"

She swallowed. Her Aes Sedai composure was long gone, replaced by something more, something much stronger.

"I understand now, why you're forging the New Manetheren," she said at last. "That name is known in the circles that matter. It has weight. Incredible weight. You needed that weight, and you needed Manetheren to be so strong that it could carry its own weight ten times over. That is why I understand now why you've spent so much effort to keep it hidden as it developed, and why you're working hard to make something like Manetheren rise anew. "She turned to him then, with serious look as she spoke. "And I _want_ to help you with that. I _want_ to be a part of that."

He turned sharply at her. He had to say that he was surprised.

"And what about all that yesterday?" he asked, even as she started shaking her head in a firm, unquestionable negative. "What about those veiled threats of the wrath of the Queen of Andor whose lands we're trying to steal?"

"No. No," she shook her head and lifted her finger. "While I still stand firmly behind the notion that Andor's political position must not be weakened by it losing a part of its territory, there is something much greater happening here, and I can already see it:

"Ideas are being shared freely and are being enhanced. New ways of thinking are being developed. New constructs, new methods, and even an affiliation of female channelers in this very Palace! The part of me that firmly believes in the ways of the White Tower does not approve of it, but I cannot deny what I see and feel. I feel…"

She paused, then took a step toward him, placing a hand on her chest, her eyes wide, glimmering with some renewed light in them.

"Rand," she said somberly, conveying all of her seriousness. "Tell me why do I feel all this? It's as if there is something in the air, something that gives a sense of elation and inspiration, and of being able to do anything I imagine – it has been with me since I came to the Two Rivers, and I know something like that cannot be done without either the One Power use, the effect of a Ta'veren, or presence of a Chora Tree.

"I cannot fathom that some Aiel came all the way here for some reason and gave you a sapling; not after Laman's idiocy. Your Ta'veren effect?" she shook her head slowly. "It could be the reason, but not for such prolonged period, not for such a great span as to encompass the entire Two Rivers region. So there's only the option of the One Power usage… yet, how can anyone maintain such a huge weave all the time? So, there's only one plausible thing.

"Rand… Do you have a ter'angreal here that's giving us this feeling of elation?"

He was silent for a moment before speaking.

"Yes, there is."

"Then you must show it to me," she all but demanded.

He raised an eyebrow then, calling her out. "Really, Moiraine?"

She blinked, pausing and straightening her dress.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I know you feel that you don't have to heed it, but old habits die hard. It's just that the White Tower claims right on all objects of Power, and if any are found 'in the wild', they are to be claimed and brought to the Tower."

"Oh?" there was amusement on his face, but not so much in his voice. "And, on what grounds do they claim that right?"

"It is a charter, of a sort," she said. "It was made during the forging of the Ten Nations, one of which was Manetheren. The consensus was that since the White Tower was a legitimate successor of the Aes Sedai organization of the Age of Legends, then all objects of Power that were made during the Age of Legends belonged to it, and must be in the White Tower's possession."

"Why is that so important?" he asked as he cocked his head. "If you need that specific ter'angreal that someone else has, then just make a new one."

Moiraine's face was expressionless, her body still as a statue.

"We can't," she said after a moment. "The knowledge has been lost. Every angreal, sa'angreal or ter'angreal that exists is more valuable than any treasure."

Rand turned his back to her, and leaned with his hands against a chair's back.

"I was afraid you'd say something like that," he said. "I have had suspicions for a while, now, that Aes Sedai of this day and age are severely weakened as compared to the ones of the Age of Legends."

"You are not mistaken," she said after a moment. "The White Tower believes itself immune to the apathy that reigns throughout the World and in the hearts of common men that we spoke of just now, but even we haven't been unaffected; at least at some level. Having new ideas and new ways of thinking – something that is obviously happening here in Manetheren – is not happening in the Tower. It is stagnating." There was a moment of pause as she frowned and shook her head in wonder. "And why am I even admitting to this?"

He shrugged. "Sorry. I do it unconsciously sometimes."

She tsk-ed in annoyance. "Oh, that's right. Ta'veren."

There was silence among them for a little while.

"What else was lost?" he asked then. "What other talents and knowledge have Aes Sedai lost or forgotten when it comes to channeling?"

"Many talents," she said finally, after taking a deep sigh. "The stories claim numerous talents of the Age of Legends of which we know next to nothing. Travelling, Dreaming, making cuendillar, making objects of Power… all of these talents and many more are gone. Light knows how many that we don't even know of are lost. That's why the White Tower feels it's so important for us to have that ter'angreal. We feel that we are the only ones who know how to truly safeguard them."

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Moiraine, but that simply doesn't seem to be the case from where I'm standing."

"And it is a sore point for the White Tower," she confessed. "But we will never give our claim up. It is a matter of principle."

He nodded. "I understand. But you can't have it, none the less," he said. "Even if this ter'angreal wasn't as huge as a house, which it is. Besides, any claim of that type holds weight only in three cases: if you acquired the object by making it, buying it, or got it as a gift."

"The Aes Sedai of the Age of Legends were the ones that made it," she said. "We are their successors, and we inherit the right."

"And, that would be fine if this ter'angreal was made during the Age of Legends," he retorted.

A serious silence among them ensued. He could see it on Moiraine's face, though; a thousand gears in her brain working, trying to gauge his words out while trying to contain a serious outburst.

"It is a serious thing if you were to lie about this," she said, trying to contain emotions.

"One does not build a state on lies," he stated with a stormy look in his eyes.

"Then, when was the ter'angreal made?" she whispered, some of the emotions finally breaking through.

"A couple of years ago," he said. "About the time that the Palace was built."

"But, _how _?! The knowledge was lost in the Breaking!"

"Moiraine, please, you're pulling on my shirt too much," he said, trying not to smile and to sound a bit serious.

She glanced down to where she held firm onto him. She had acted practically unconsciously. That was how great her need to know of this Ter'angreal was. She let go immediately, though, and flexed her fingers, looking up at him expectantly.

Was it desire to know? Was it some spec of primal greed? It didn't matter – he was pleased, and he voiced it.

"It speaks volumes if you're more interested in knowing how this ter'angreal came to be, than trying to force White Tower's claim."

"How can I not be interested?" she breathed out. "The knowledge of making objects of Power was lost. There was not even a hint as to how to make them. Even the ones that we do have, the ones that have been salvaged from the era, are known for what they do only to an extent! There are many ter'angreal that are dormant and we have no idea what they do, nor how to activate them."

She turned away from him, lacing her fingers together, thinking, but without being able to settle down.

"It is a dream of all Aes Sedai," she said. "And here you have discovered how to do it."

She turned back toward him. "Did the wilders do it?"

"Wilders?" he asked, making a confused grimace.

"That's how we call female channelers that have not been trained in the White Tower. In this case I was referring to the female channelers of Manetheren."

"Yes, it was them," he said.

She took his hand in both of hers.

"Rand, please," she said. "show me to the girls. Let me learn whatever secrets they have discovered. This is a thing of major proportions, and I'd be willing to do whatever it takes in order to be given that opportunity."

Rand could see it in her eyes. There was sincerity in them. No guile, no trickery, no nothing. Just pure sincerity. She really wanted this; needed this.

But how to give it to her?

There were many questions, many unknowns that were fundamental if she were to understand what he was about to give her.

Never mind the question of how would she fare with some of the most stubborn women on the planet, the real question was – how great is her skill and strength with the One Power, in the first place? How extensive was her knowledge not just of the nature of the One Power, but the knowledge of the specific Power webs, and especially techniques?

One cannot build a citadel on bad foundations, nor can he build it if he cannot see what was already built in the first place, but if he were to do that, if he were to start asking those questions, she would immediately come to the question as to why is he asking, and how come he _knows_ so much when it comes to channeling.

And there would be no other way than to tell her. _Well, might as well get it over with sooner, rather than later_.

"You know, I'd be inclined to let the women give you the knowledge of channeling they have," he said then. "All the knowledge and skills, with no questions asked, without any kind of mutual trade, or you having to do something later in return."

Moiraine raised an eyebrow.

"They listen to you on this matter? I find it strange to believe that a woman that can channel would listen to any man."

"I am a special case, as you've no doubt realized by now."

"Well, that's certainly true," Moiraine said after a moment of pause. "So if there are no conditions, why would you hesitate?"

"Because despite there not being conditions, there _are_ questions, and important questions at that – ones of whether you are at all _able_ to understand the knowledge that would be given to you."

"Are we talking about the same thing here?" she said, with a tone of slight annoyance making its way into her voice. "I am Aes Sedai, if I'm not mistaken."

"Precisely," he said grimly. "You have the ability to channel, but from what you tell me, and from what I'm coming to realize with every passing moment, is that Aes Sedai of today seem to be incredibly weaker than the channelers of the Age of Legends, and I'm _not_ talking about raw power, but _knowledge_ of how to make complex webs of Power, or as I've seen you call them – weaves.

"There are weaves we know that are much more than just channeling flows of a single aspect; the weaves that are _more_ than simply making flames appear, or fireballs, or firewalls, or solidifying air, making lightning, or using that aspect to make wards against someone spying on you." He squinted at her. "Because, correct me if I'm wrong, but _that_ is what you and your sisters are using the One Power for most of the time when you channel. Am I right?"

So there he was – consciously giving her every clue that she needed to deduct that he is a channeler, making a veritable elephant in the room. What would she do?

Moiraine turned her head to look at him sideways with a cautious, studying look. There it was, he realized; right in her eyes was a realization. She didn't have to say anything. He then suddenly felt goose bumps spread across his skin. She was channeling. Well… that was fine; he couldn't blame her, or expect her to react in any other way. He would follow that through just as well, though.

Then, to his surprise a strangest thing happened. The expression on her face changed from that of consternation, to that of renewed peace… and then, she released her hold of the Source. He felt the absence of goose bumps on his skin as clear as if he could actually see its glow fading.

"You seem to know quite a lot about the intricacies of channeling," Moiraine said cautiously, yet remaining unusually calm and determined. And there could be no mistake as to the twinkle of great interest and amazement in her eyes. "How interesting, don't you think? Especially considering that we are talking about the One Power; thing only women can touch safely without going mad."

He smirked. "I think that you already know what I'm talking about, Moiraine. So let's not beat around the bushes. You think that I channel, don't you?"

She looked up at him intently, unblinkingly, as if she was trying to give weight to what she was about to say. It was an accusation.

"You really have touched the _saidin_, Rand al'Thor, haven't you?"

"Yes," was his immediate, firm answer, delivered without so much as a hair's breadth of a pause. "And I've done a fair bit more than touching in the past year or so."

She was silent – speechless, to be exact– for a long while. But there was no alarm on her face that he could see. Only those eyes that remained intent on him, not studying him, not judging him either. Only… serene.

"You're not jesting, are you?" she asked calmly, sounding completely at peace.

"Do you know of a man crazy enough to admit it to an Aes Sedai out of the blue?" he asked rhetorically. "Even if he truly _was_ only jesting?" He shook his head. "Not my way, Moiraine! You should have realized that by now. As for the proof, you'll just have to be patient; you'll understand, though, that I won't channel some petty theatrics just for the sake of you seeing it."

She was silent.

"I believe you," she said at last. "And I wouldn't want to force you into ordeal of channeling the tainted male half, anyway. But from what I've seen of you so far, I find it in me to believe, whether I see you channeling or not."

"Well, you certainly don't sound too surprised," he noticed, then added, "or afraid."

"Oh, I'm under some consternation, I assure you," she said. "I truly was expecting already that you really are a channeler; especially with what I've seen in these past couple of days throughout the Two Rivers, after all. Everything was pointing out to it… and to more. And here you are – admitting it, firmly, as if it was the most natural thing for you."

She shook her head. "Not what I ever imagined any male channeler would react like… but it is what I expected of you. It is just that kind of impression that you give as a person."

"That doesn't explain why you didn't assault me with the One Power when I admitted that I was one," he said. "Wasn't your duty as Aes Sedai to capture men like that and to take them to the White Tower to be… what was the word? Gentled?"

Moiraine took a deep breath.

"I almost did," she admitted. "I suspect that you already know that, just as you seem to know everything else. I didn't, because I realized then, that it would be unwise." She stopped, then shook her head vigorously. "No. That's completely wrong way of saying it, and it's not real truth! The truth is that I simply didn't want to start it out like that with _you_. While there is a difference between a common man that started channeling, and someone like you, to start with… you, the Rand al'Thor of Manetheren, you're something else entirely.

"In fact," she continued as she stepped gingerly toward him. "I think that you are much more than ordinary channeler. I just know it. I have an inexplicable feeling – burn me if I know why, but it screams at me – telling me that even if Ta'veren weren't involved, you are still _much_ more powerful than any Aes Sedai."

He grinned like a predator, and sounded like one as he spoke: "Why, thank you, Moiraine," he said. "It strokes my male ego quite nicely."

She smiled in turn – a bare upturn of the corners of her lips, and shook her head lightly in a way his mother sometimes would, then turned somber once more.

"You said that you have been channeling for the past year," she said studiously. "Yet when I look at you and when I talk with you, I can't see anything that would even remotely resemble any kind of madness. Eccentricity, yes, but not madness. Don't you feel the Taint?"

"You're asking me whether it touches me," he stated, then nodded. "It's trying. It's always trying. If I were to be careless and let my guard down for even one single moment – then it would."

"You make it sound like you're doing it with sheer willpower," she said. "Amazing!"

"You don't doubt it?" he asked.

She laughed out loud. "After what you did yesterday to me? After you stopped me from channeling just by willing it? I don't doubt it for a second! I am wondering though, as to why would you trust me with this matter? You've known me just for a day!"

"First impression," he stated simply. "When I saw you, I just knew it. You had that kind of air about you, that kind of gaze, that kind of posture. Pride, nobility, yet a burden that was yours alone. And then you said the magic word that was your burden."

"My search for the Dragon Reborn," she nearly whispered. She found that while outside she wouldn't dare speak her quest out loud, it flowed freely and lightly as a feather here.

"Yes," he nodded. "The rest was things falling in their place."

"The Wheel weaving as it wills," she added.

He gestured with his hand in assent.

"What if it was someone else?" she asked. "Another Aes Sedai that is far more bigoted than I? Would you have told her that you really are the…"

He raised a finger.

"Now, hold on! I know what you're about to say, and I must stop you. I only said I was a male channeler. Not the Dragon Reborn."

She shook her head exasperatedly, clearly stating that she did not buy it; that in her mind, she had already decided.

"Well, I won't beat around the bushes either" she said, then returned his words back to him. "I don't care what you say, because when I met you, I just knew it. I felt it, and every single thing you said or did since yesterday went to the favor of you being the Dragon Reborn, and that is what I have decided to believe in, and I will until you prove it otherwise.

But regardless of what you say to that, you still haven't answered my question: would you have told some other Aes Sedai that you are a channeler?"

He sighed.

"Let me meet that other Aes Sedai, whoever she might be, and _then_ let me decide if she's worthy," he said with a slight tone of annoyance. "Until then, I wouldn't do anything.

"What I do know, however, is that you can't build relationships with people if you dance around an important issue, and you know that something like this would have come up eventually. I have felt that you have it in you to take a bite of this truth about me, chew it, swallow it and digest it. I didn't know for sure, true, but I felt it; so, in the end, I decided to take a leap of faith. I'm glad I wasn't disappointed.

He took a few paces around the chamber, his voice reverberating as he spoke:

"I do not have any qualms about showing you any of this. I am what I am; there is no point in denying it, or escaping it. In fact, even if it was possible to escape it, I would not. That is not _who_ I am, nor who I want to turn into. With that said, there is a difference between admitting what you are, yet remaining cautiously silent about it, and flaunting it around like an idiot.

In the end, it's not about me telling you what I am, or how I will go about it; it's about whether _you_ are able to follow me down the path that I'm heading."

She was silent for a long moment, and then a sly smile appeared on her lips.

"I think," she started, "that if I have dedicated myself to the quest of helping the Dragon Reborn, then surely the path any other man might take would be an easier one."

Rand chuckled, then outright laughed. It was a sly answer, he thought – him not admitting he was the Dragon yet, and her saying that she didn't give a damn about whether he did or not.

He was contemplating deeply while he was looking at her. Like it usually was in those cases, he felt a desire to light a cigarette. He walked to the work desk where he usually evaluated documents and paperwork, reached for his jacket that was hanged over the chair's back, and took out a small silver cigarette case from the inner pocket.

Moiraine watched him intently and tracked his every move; his every minute motion as he flicked the case open with his thumb with practiced ease, pulled out a cigarette, tapped it twice on the case lid after he closed it and placed it between his lips.

And then, _that_ feeling appeared. It was the same feeling as yesterday. That powerful, omnipresent feeling of being overwhelmed, of being small, overpowered, within the grasp of something indomitable. She couldn't move, she couldn't breathe, feeling as though her heart was slowing down.

It was the Ta'veren effect. He was _using_ his Ta'veren ability, she just knew it.

It was the tiniest moment of time that it had lasted. The tiniest moment, lesser than a heartbeat, lesser than a lightning strike, yet it felt so long. And she could see it in his face. A determination, as if he was battling with something. Something great. Fighting, and winning.

It was then that he snapped his fingers, and it happened: out of nowhere, a small candle flame appeared on the tip of his thumb, dancing in the air.

He brought his flamed thumb near the tip of the cigarette, and lighted it. Long moments seemed to pass as he pulled on it, drawing smoke, before removing the hand with a quick flick that snubbed out the little flame.

Only then did Moiraine felt release from whatever great hold had held her, and took a sigh of relief, bracing herself against the back of the nearby chair.

"Ah," Rand said when he realized what had happened. "Sorry about that. It passes outward sometimes and affects other people, whether I want it or not."

Moiraine looked up at him with a ghost of a smile on her lips.

"How does it feel?" she asked.

He coked his head in question. "What?"

"_Saidin_."

He nodded in understanding, and sat down in his chair, leaning back and resting the elbow of the hand in which he held the cigarette against the armrest.

"Do you think you have an open mind? Because that's what you need," he said. "You're going to need it, because if I'm about to start disclosing things to you, many of your conceptions about the world will be shattered."

"You really believe that, don't you?" Moiraine said.

"I don't have time to lie, Moiraine," he said. "A state is not built on lies, it's not built by leading people by the nose, and it's most certainly not built just by having mere fancies and strong imagination. I have no interest, nor profit in lying to you, but all I would stand is to _gain_ – a confidant, a friend, a powerful knight of Manetheren, if you will – and it would be someone who would be so powerful as opposed to everybody else outside of this new, burgeoning country, that it would leave them staggered and blinded by this person's sheer awesomeness! Now, tell me you can beat that! Tell me you'd not be willing to look past your doubts for five minutes and see the amazing sales pitch I'm giving you!"

"Alright," she nodded. "How would you want to do it, then?"

Rand made a rumbling sound in his throat as he looked intently at her, contemplating things deeply.

"Pay attention," he said, and channeled.

Tendrils of different color appeared next to him. It was an optic illusion that represented a very complex weave.

"This is a special kind of weave," he said. "It is used by first spinning it, and then placing it into your eyes. This one here is the exact way – the _exact_ way, mind you – in which a woman needs to form it with _saidar_. Replicate it, and place it in your eyes."

Tentatively, Moiraine channeled and tested out a strange new weave. It was complex, but she managed to copy it perfectly and just as tentatively, she let it enter her eyes. There was no feeling whatsoever, but when she looked back at Rand, she gasped.

All over Rand's body was a veritable net of dozens of diverse weaves. His arms, his legs, his body, his neck, his head – everything was crawling with living, shifting weaves that flew about, moving and repositioning at all times.

"Are…" she started, then lost her voice. She took another breath then tried again. "Are those weaves of _saidin_?" she asked incredulously.

"They are," he said. "They are in fact _inverted_. It means they cannot be seen by another male channeler, but that web you're using now is enabling you to see it regardless."

"Web?" she asked. "Surely you mean 'weave'? That's how we call the combination of Power flows."

"So, that's how you call it?" he chuckled. "Weaving. Something that sounds so… womanly. Alright; I'll call it weave, for your benefit."

She nodded, then returned her gaze to the strange weaves and the flows that they were made of, and then smiled a genuine smile. She could see it – the fundamental difference that existed in the very flows as opposed to the flows she would channel. It was the _saidin_, she knew. But that was only the lowest level of the matter.

"They are so… complex!" she said, trying not to beam. "They are almost as complex as the weaves needed for our Aes Sedai testing! Are you maintaining them all this time?"

"No. They are standing weaves. I've formed them, and sort of… tied them off at the source, thus leaving them there." He cocked his head as he looked at her. "Have you ever seen or heard anything like it?"

"No," she said breathlessly. "Something like that, it… it was lost to us." She looked up at him with a focused look. "You really are something else, Rand al'Thor. I cannot even fathom how it is that you managed to learn how to make these weaves."

"I will teach you," he said as if it was a done deal. "But in order to do that, we must begin with something much more… elementary."

"What would that be?"

"_En'gon, Haon, Vel'won, Tirson_ and _Psion,_" he responded.

"The Old Tongue words for the elements of the One Power?"

"_Aspects_, of the One Power," he corrected, then asked: "How do you call them?"

"We call them Fire, Air, Water, Earth and Spirit."

Rand hummed deep in his throat pensively. "That's wrong," he said. "The translation isn't correct. Are you sure you don't know the correct words?"

Moiraine frowned. "No. I know that the Old Tongue is complex, and that there are other words for Fire or Air, but we always thought those were homonyms."

Rand shook his head, then stood up and snubbed out the finished cigarette. He walked around the table, trailing a finger of his right hand against the desk.

"I'm afraid that the Old Tongue's complexity goes beyond anything you imagine. Think about all the things the Age of Legends _had_ – be it mere imagination, or not – all of those mysterious objects, items, disciplines, etcetera, and then magnify it a hundred fold. _That_ is how many words and word derivatives this Age has _lost_, only because an object was lost, and you don't know about it.

"_En'gon, Haon, Vel'won, Tirson_ and _Psion_ are like that. They mean so much more than simple Fire, Air, Water, Earth or Spirit, that, since there is no knowledge of these things in this Age, you don't know what they really are, and thus, you cannot comprehend their true power."

Moiraine was looking at him intently.

"What _are_ you?" she asked as she squinted at him. "Just what in the world _are_ you, to speak so casually of the things that were in the Age of Legends?"

He chuckled. "Are we going to contemplate me, or the One Power?"

She sighed. "The One Power."

He nodded, then continued. "Where were we, then? That's right, the aspects. There was something called… hmm… 'a state of aggregation' would be a most accurate translation. That is what _Haon, Vel'won_ and _Tirson_ were: an aspect of Gas – of which air itself is only one example, an aspect of Fluid – of which water is only one most obvious example, and an aspect of Solid – of which earth is yet again only a single, most obvious example. _Psion_ has no translation. _Psion_ is a transcendent quality inherent to all things. Do you know of _Tel'aran'rhiod_?"

"Yes," Moiraine nodded. "The Dream World!"

Rand smiled. "The Dream World. The transcendent quality of all things that exist is present in the Dream World because everything passes the threshold of its existence at certain level, and can thus enter any other existence. _Psion_, however, is the transcendent quality that is most heavily concentrated in the human mind, where arguably the human soul originates, and which can be manipulated by your own will.

"And here we come to _En'gon_, which I will take a bit of time to explain to you," he stated. "First of all, it is not Fire. _En'gon_ translates more closely to energy, potential, state of higher level."

"Energy?" Moiraine wondered. "Then, why does it make fire?"

"Because fire _is_ a form of energy, Moiraine," he smiled viciously. "You just need to understand the extent to which that fact applies! In truth, everything that exists is energy. Matter itself is energy. Look!"

He channeled the flows of what to Moiraine was Fire, and wove them through the slim threads of air, forming images out of thin air. What she saw were swarms of burning sparks, swarming about in a chaotic manner.

"This is energy," he said. "These sparks are so small that they actually don't have dimension; if you were to try to measure their size, it would be as if they don't exist. Yet, they do, and what their nature – just like everything else that exists – is to congregate together in certain ways."

The image shifted, showing swarms of sparks grouping in massive whirlpools which formed into round objects.

"These objects," he continued, "are the building blocks of matter. They are the smallest particles, and everything that exists is made up of them. Everything! They, too, congregate in a certain manner, forming great systems of particles that orbit around a core. Depending on how many particles there are in any given system, different materials will be formed out of them."

He then formed several different orbiting systems for her to see, each one with different numbers of particles in the core and orbit.

"This system, for instance," he pointed. "Is iron. A single _grain_ of iron is made of billions upon billions of these particles. This other system is what the air that we breathe is consisted of. When that particular one is joined with two of these smaller systems in the third image you see, like this – it then forms water that we drink."

"So, you're saying that even water itself is made up of energy?" Moiraine asked, looking at him sideways. "And if your logic is to be followed, then even our own bodies are."

"Exactly," he grinned. "Energy permeates everything. It is the _key_ to everything. Your body is warm, isn't it? When you rub your palms, you will release energy. The great orbiting systems of particles that I've showed you rub against each other, releasing the energy into the surrounding area, where it is picked up by something else – it is _never_ lost!"

The images shifted, showing the particles rubbing against each other, like he said, while swarms of energy sparks were rushing outward.

"So, why is this important when it comes to the Fire element?" she asked studiously. "Or, as you call it – the _En'gon_ aspect."

"Because the transfer of energy changes the properties of an object," he responded. "Make a fireball for me, and I'll show you!"

Without any hesitation, Moiraine lifted her hand and channeled. A fireball appeared and hovered motionlessly above her palm.

"See there," he started. "You just channeled a flow of what you call Fire and made a knot. The knot makes the flow concentrated in one point, thus making a fire to appear. Right?"

"That's right," she said. "If I want a greater intensity or size, I just make a more intricate knot, or increase the intensity of the flow."

"But what burns?" he asked her then, with a gleam of intrigue in his eyes. "That fire in your hand – while obviously red, and obviously has its own tongues – it obviously isn't like the fire we see in fireplaces, the one that is made by burning wood. So, what burns?"

"I always thought that the One Power does," she said, then quickly raised her hand when he opened his mouth. "Waaaait! I know. I've realized it by now that it's something else that makes these flames, but for the life of me, I wouldn't know what it is."

She sounded exasperated at the end.

"Look, then," he commanded. "Look deep into the flames and see what is happening. I will help you."

She felt the weight of his Ta'veren ability cover her, and stream into her, filling her up like a gigantic waterway. She felt an enormous need to concentrate all of her senses into the flame. Her mind and focus were suddenly clear like never before, and never had she felt such a sense of concentration. It was not a false concentration. It was not something that was amplified by channeling, or by some external source. It was as if her own willpower was at work.

She gazed deep down, deep, deep down into the flames and saw it at last. She saw the great orbiting systems that he had shown images of earlier, except that these were the real deal. These _were_ the ones that were real. And for the first time in her entire life, she _saw_ what was happening down there.

The knotted flows of _En'gon_ were passing through the orbiting systems, being absorbed by each and every one of them until they _glowed_. They glowed like suns, with swarms upon swarms of bright energy sparks radiating outward. The orbiting systems were riding on the waves of radiating energy, climbing up and away in the form of fiery tongues of the fireball, before they passed out of the channeled flows' area of effect, and ceasing to glow, only to be replaced by the new particles that were coming in from the surrounding air.

She felt the pressure of Ta'veren released.

"Air," she said. "Light, it is the air itself that I'm burning! It passes into the area of the Fire flows and gets so hot that it looks like fire to our eyes!" She looked at him with a glow of wonder in her eyes, then smiled.

"I'll never look at fire the same way again," she said, then looked back to the fireball in her hand. "Yet I could never see it before."

"So," Rand started, "did you ever try to burn a fireball in a body of water?"

"But water can't burn," she said with a frown. "All it will do is make water boil – I've seen and done it."

He chuckled and raised a finger. "The kettle's lid, Moiraine," he said, making her remember their previous conversation. "Remember the kettle's lid that's pushed by the steam, and the way everybody takes it for granted just the way it is, not even being aware of the enormous potential for it to be harnessed it in a machine."

Moiraine's turned her whole body to him, her posture screaming interest.

"Something else is supposed to happen, isn't it?" she asked. "Something much bigger than just water boiling."

Rand laughed out loud as he moved to the nearby cupboard, grabbed a half-filled pitcher made of glass, and placed it on the center of the table.

"I'll reinforce the walls of the pitcher," he said as he channeled. "And I'll bind it to the desk."

He then took a few steps back. Seeing him do that, Moiraine took a few of her own.

"What is going to happen?" she asked. "Is there going to be a lot of steam?"

Rand laughed maniacally. "Just make a fireball in there, right in mid water," he said. "And watch!"

Moiraine took a deep breath, and murmured: "Light save me from a mad man."

With that she channeled. It took less than a fraction of a second for the flows of _En'gon_ to appear and form in a knot. It took less than a quarter of a second for the water to turn into a churning mass of bubbles. It took less than half a second for the chemical reaction of water dissociation to begin.

And it took less than a whole second for it all to burst out in a massive, roaring blast of _fire_ that jetted out past the narrow throat of the pitcher and reached half way up the ceiling.

It lasted a mere second. But it had _lasted_, and it was a most impressive, most powerful-looking jet of fire that she had ever seen… and it was one of the most frightening sudden experiences she had ever had.

"What! In the name of Light! Just happened?!" she yelled out loud after the fire jet subsided, trying not to shake because of her startle.

She was met with Rand's raucous laughter as he walked slowly toward her.

"Did you already forget what I said earlier?"

She just looked at him blankly.

"I said that presence of energy changes the properties of a substance," he said. "What you did just now was input enough energy in a small enough timeframe for that substance to undergo a shift of state, and become volatile. Not every substance will do it in the same way, but many will do it in _some_ way.

"Don't you see, Moiraine?" he continued. "What you did just now was use everything that you already knew, but you have used it in a different manner entirely – something that you never did, and something that none of your sisters never dared play with, or never even realized is possible.

Yet you, using just a little bit more knowledge and just a little bit less Power, achieved something that was by effect a whole lot more! With. Just. A. Bit. More. Knowledge. Moiraine. Now, think how much you _could_ do with the One Power, if you were to just understand everything that I would give you."

He channeled again, and a vision of a bright spark of energy formed above his palm.

"Everything in this world depends upon one another," he said as the spark was joined by swarm of other sparks, which then went through the same process of forming new particles that he had explained.

"It all starts from energy," he continued," which then shifts to form the basic building blocks of matter. The matter shifts together build different _forms_ of matter – of things you've seen before that were once called _atoms_ and _molecules_ – who then proceed to shift together yet again, shaping the world around you."

The molecules in his hands shifted to become drops of water that hovered as if weightless. He waved his hand then, making the entire chamber disappear in illusion, with the two of them appearing to hover above a great ocean.

"And it all interacts together, doesn't it" Moiraine took over then, speaking studiously, yet her gaze distant as if in a trance. "Just like the water in that pitcher. It all has its… ways. One just has to understand that they exist, first… and then to understand _them_."

"Exactly!" he smiled, then channeled the vision around them further.

They appeared to start rising rapidly into the air, past the clouds – so high in fact, that the skies darkened and were sprinkled with stars, and the curvature of the planet could be seen.

"It all interconnects," he said. "Everything depends upon everything. Nothing in this existence can happen out of the blue. This world, this planet beneath our feet is a shifting plane of things that are interconnected. Look how huge it is. Look how alive it is. There, you can see all of the Westlands, the Spine of the World, the Aiel Waste, and yet this world itself is just a small, tiny, miniscule part of a much greater picture."

The globe of the world beneath their feet shifted rapidly away and to the side of them, and was positioned so that they could see the sun beyond it. Rand turned to Moiraine and spoke with a grave tone.

"You have seen how big our world is," he said, then pointed to the globe which now seemed to be no larger in diameter than a cartwheel. "See how smaller it appears now. It is all a matter of perception, and from where you look at a certain thing." He then pointed toward the sun. "The Sun, though, still seems the same, doesn't it?"

"Yes," Moiraine said almost like in a trance. "If it's the same size then it must mean only one thing… that it's big beyond measure."

"I like the way your mind works, Moiraine," Rand, then waved his hand, and suddenly, a humongous giant ball of fire that was the Sun rushed toward them to cover their entire view.

"That," Rand pointed, "is how big the Sun is compared to the Earth."

Moiraine sucked in air, then her gaze sharply toward him. "Truth?" she asked.

"Fact," he stated. He made the objects shift again into their proper distance, then skewed the view it into a bird view, showing her the way their world orbited the Sun, along with the rest of the planets.

"Does this remind you of something," he asked enticingly.

Moiraine looked at it for a moment, and then smiled. "The orbiting systems," she said in amazement. "What did you call them? Toms…?"

"Atoms," he said. "It's alright, you don't have to call them so; what matters is that you understand their importance."

Moiraine looked down at the representation of the solar system, then at her Aes Sedai ring – a serpent biting its own tail.

"It all repeats," Moiraine said in a dream-like voice of amazement as she fingered the ring on her finger. "I never realized the extent of it. The enormity of it. How could I? Yet it's so simple." She looked up at him. "Would there be… other orbiting systems like this one? With a sun in the middle and worlds orbiting it?" she asked.

He chuckled, then spoke as he waved his finger around. "All around us, Moiraine. All around us."

Moiraine looked around in confusion, seeing nothing but starry night skies, and then like a sudden providence it dawned on her.

"Light!" she gasped. "The stars? The stars are… they're other _suns_?" She covered her mouth with her hand, and was silent for long moments, and he could see her eyes refocusing into a new perception of things.

"I see it," she spoke. "Light, I see it for the first time! There is no night sky! There is no dome of the sky, at all! All that exists is this enormous space filled with stars – with _suns_!"

"And all that universe," he spoke softly next to her, "is what makes up that great scale of things – those that are perpetually interconnected, and where everything depends upon everything – The Pattern."

She closed her eyes tightly, and shook her head before reopening them. She was reimagining her entire world in those very moments, he knew. She was a strong woman, that much was sure; this much information could have made any lesser man or woman insane long ago.

Rand waited a bit before he made the vision fade. The shape of the great chamber came into view through a shade, and then furniture became more solid as the universe faded around them.

Moiraine took a seat at a nearby chair before all the stars in front of her winked out. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths.

There were a few long minutes of silence. He let her absorb and digest it all at her pace as he lighted another cigarette and studied her carefully as he smoked. There was a firm set to her jaw as she looked somewhere far at the distance with a fixed gaze. Both of those were more than good signs.

"I believe it," she said at last as she looked at him. "I can't understand why I do. I… can't believe that I believe it." Her gaze turned sharp again. "But I do, because it all makes sense. It is simply too plausible not to be true, but it's such a crazy notion at the same time."

"Crazy is just a matter of opinion," he said and took another whiff of the cigarette smoke. "The things that sound craziest are usually the truest. I told you, didn't I? Universe simply loves irony. Just look at our precious lovers – the _saidin_ and _saidar_."

Moiraine shook her head gently. "This knowledge, it…" she sighed. "If there were to be someone who would appear out there – outside of Manetheren – and begin to speak of this view of things, that man would be in real danger of being killed, Rand. He might even be labeled a Darkfriend and burned at the stake."

He took a whiff of the cigarette smoke, then pointed at her with the tip of the cigarette as he spoke:

"That's why the world will be shattered and broken. It needs to be Broken, with a capital 'B'. One man at a time, if needed be. You were not the first outsider that came to the Two Rivers – in which I don't count the refugees, who are now our citizens – but you are the first one that would receive the true knowledge."

"But, how do _you _possess all of that knowledge?" she asked, then. "How do you know of all these things if even White Tower libraries do not have any knowledge of it? You said that you learned of it when you were a boy, so who taught you?"

He took a deep sigh.

"That is a bit complicated to explain. The person who taught me all of this is not around anymore. He still drops by every now and then, but rarely."

"Who is he?" Moiraine asked softly.

"The correct question would be 'who _was_ he?'" Rand responded. "But let's not talk about him, for the time being. It would be a waste of time, and we have far more important things to do now."

"Such as?" she asked.

"Such as going to the South Wing," he said. "You have earned the right Moiraine. Any lesser man or woman would not be able to handle the things I've shown you, but you did, and that speaks volumes. The simple fact is that you've earned to know all the things the South Wing can offer you just because you are _who_ you are – and that is a great person."

She cast her eyes sideways for a moment, not knowing how to react to his words.

"That sounds like a praise," she said. "Frankly, I don't know what to say to that. Despite all the things you've shown me up to this point, it's just that… Aes Sedai tend to have a status that rivals that of royalty; such people don't usually get praise, you understand."

He sighed.

"What is it with you people?!" he called out in exasperation. "You've forgotten what an immense power a simple 'thank you' has! By saying 'thank you', you acknowledge the praise, accept it as true, and furthermore, it automatically becomes a shield against any possible exploits because the other side must now accept it as true, as well. If you deny it, you open yourself up for counter strike. A 'thank you' is what gives people strength, dignity, and nobility. Why does everybody keep forgetting that?"

Moiraine laughed then, like a ring of pearls in a porcelain bowl. Everything seemed different all of a sudden. That simple realization made everything sound so much lighter. Her noble demeanor returned, except that this time it was hammered with good humor.

"Care to repeat that previous statement, lord Rand?" she asked.

Rand sprang up from where he sat and crossed the distance to her in a couple of long strides. He stood regally in front of her, and offered her his hand, which she took as she stood up.

"Moiraine," he said. "I said it once, and I stand behind what I say. You are a person that deserves to get all that she is about to get, because of the kind of person that you are."

She straightened, looking almost haughty, but with a smile to her face.

"Thank you!" she said as if that much was only expected.

Rand smiled predatorily. "There you have it," he said. "Be greedy, take it all, and give nothing back. Now, let's go to the South Wing!"


	7. Chapter 6: The South Wing

_AUTHOR'S NOTE_

_Hello everyone! You're awesome! I am incredibly elated at the shear enormity of the positive reviews you have given to me, and I am glad that I have found plenty of you who liked the idea I was trying to convey. Now, I feel a bit guilty, though, because I never managed to respond to all of your reviews questions, even though many of you do ask good questions and deserve a good answer. To those that didn't get any response – I'm sorry about that! There simply was a lot of things that I needed to do, and I never managed._

_Now, an important thing: there are a few people who, throughout this series, have offered to be my beta, and I think you deserve at least some kind of an answer. I'll be frank with you on that matter, though: I am very reluctant to have a beta. I understand that there might be a grammar error appearing here and there, and English truly isn't my native tongue, which would make it wise for me to have a real native-English speaking proof-reader, but I am still very reluctant. All of my proof-reading is done by a friend of mine, and he was extremely helpful, and in a much greater way than simple grammar. He is very skilled at spotting those tiny inconsistencies, or abruption in the flow of the story. No, seriously, it is in no small part thanks to him that this story remains so good. With that said, I am not completely adverse to ever having a beta, but when it comes to that, I tend to behave a bit like I was being offered to become a Warder – flattered, but no, thanks!_

_So, here it is – a 15000 word chapter. I know it is a few days late as opposed to what I promised, but hey – I delivered! Now, remember when I said that this chapter was originally merged with the previous one into a big 25k word chapter, but I had to divide it, so this chatper is basically a continuation of the previous one. I know it may seem like the story isn't progressing fast enough, but bear with me! The chapter after this one is where the fun begins. As for that one in particular, I haven't started writing it yet, as I was doing my best to fine-polish this one (and besides, I went for a bit of job hunting), so I'm not sure how long that one will take. But I really want to do it, and will work on it._

_**DISCLAIMER**__ – I do not own the Wheel of Time series, its characters or anything that comes with it. It all belongs to… I don't know who, but it's not me!_

* * *

><p><span><em><strong>Chapter 6 – The South Wing<strong>_

Moiraine felt light as a feather as she stood up to follow Rand out of his work chamber. It was such a strong sensation that it was as if a slightest breeze would lift her off her feet. The world was spinning, the universe was spinning, and even the air itself seemed to be the catalyst for this amazing feeling, for this _strong_ feeling; a feeling like ends had ceased to exist.

"Still feels earthshattering, doesn't it?" Rand asked her.

"Yes," she nodded, then smiled. "It's just that I can't…" she shook her head. "All these revelations are making it so that everything is different. Nothing is as it was, anymore, and I find my head throbbing with all of these new… ideas."

"Hmm," he smirked. "I know that feeling. That's a good thing. Your brain is like a muscle. It needs to be worked in order to grow, but it too has its daily limits, even if there is a ter'angreal as powerful as _Lavanth_, giving you the motivation. There's so much more that you need to receive today, and I'm not sure that it would be within anyone's limits."

"Stopping now?" she asked incredulously as he opened the door out of the chambers. Her tongue moved as fast as her thoughts. "No."

Rand laughed mightily, the entire corridor to which they have just passed into starting to reverberate.

"I see, I see," he said as his laughter subsided, then leaned down to her, with a sinister grin, and a sly tone to his voice. "But be careful what you wish for. I never said that I won't give you everything, did I? What you have tasted was just a lick of the tastiest fruit the human kind has ever known, and once the seeds of that fruit are properly rooted, it becomes as addictive as a drug."

"We'll see," she smiled back.

Rand turned somber, then.

"Be that as it may," he spoke, "there are some things you need to understand before we even venture there."

Moiraine's smile dropped as she noticed his serious demeanor.

"I'm listening," she said.

"First things first," he said. "Concerning my channeling, you need to understand that you are now unofficially included in a special circle of people who know of my ability. What's more – and this is even more important, in fact – you are now one of only seven people who are able to speak freely about it."

"I thank you for your trust," Moiraine said after a moment. "But, how can you be sure that others won't speak of it?"

"They can't. They have willingly sworn an oath on the binder ter'angreal that we have uncovered – the same kind of ter'angreal that you have sworn your Aes Sedai oaths on."

Moiraine raised her eyebrow. "You made them swear it on an Oath Rod? Don't you trust these people?"

"You misunderstand," he said. "If I didn't trust them, they would never know that I can channel. On the contrary! I trust them fully. However, things like these tend to leak out unintentionally – someone may overhear something that they shouldn't, and then spread it onward – and something like that is not desirable for the stability of a young nation such as this. It's not some sinister plot; it's simply a matter of sound principle of statesmanship. Unlike most that do know of me, however, you are left with freedom concerning this, but I hope you understand the need for it remaining secret."

"I do understand," she said after a moment. "But there is the matter of Lan. He has been my most trusted friend for many years. He knows almost as much as I do, and has shared in my quest in the search for the Dragon ever since I've met him."

"I was expecting you would," Rand said. "It is only understandable. What I truly meant was that you keep it to yourself, and certainly to not share it with other Aes Sedai when we do meet them, even if they might be your closest friend."

"Not immediately?" she intoned hopefully.

Rand's eyes became a pair of dangerous lightning clouds. "Not before I tell you to. I don't need a pack of overzealous female channelers chasing my tail. It's counterproductive to both of our causes. Are we clear on that?"

She nodded and seemed to think things through.

"I assume that two of those other people that know of what you are, are Mat and Perrin?" she asked.

"That was an easy assumption," he said.

"It was only logical," she said. "You three give an aura of certain… bond, shall I say."

"Taking a charcoal burn and scythe cut to one's own skin instead of letting your friend be hurt tends to do that," he responded. "Mat and Perrin are the only ones that know _everything_."

She was silent for a moment.

"Other two must be your parents," she stated with finality.

He looked down at her with surprise. "And your assumption is based upon…?"

"That parents always know when there's something different about their child," she responded.

"Interesting," he mused. "Do you have children?"

"No," she said. "But I know of these things."

"Well, you're not wrong about my parents. But they don't know everything. Neither do you – yet, that is – but once you find out enough, you should refrain from mentioning it."

Moiraine smirked.

"You mean me believing that you are a… _special_ channeler?" she intoned. "A kind that happens to appear only _once_ during an Age, at the end of that Age?"

Rand had to chuckle.

"Oh, really?" he retorted. "If I remember correctly, there are certain _things_ that this man would need to do in order to be known and accepted as such."

"The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills," she said. "I came here to the Two Rivers… to Manetheren, because it was the last place that I haven't been to, and I cannot imagine him slipping through my grasp in any way in those other places in the twenty years of my search; not with all of the precautions I've taken. If that man wasn't here, living and breathing, then we're all already doomed. Seeing you for who you are, for what kind of person you are, well… let's just say that it's infinitely better prospect for us; and those 'quests' that would need to be undertaken? I believe you will do them all without a hitch; it is only your birthright."

She looked up at him pointedly, then. "You are our last hope. In truth, I'm placing last shreds of my own hope and willpower into _him_ being _you_. All of my faith."

He was looking down to meet her gaze. He could hear in her voice all the effort that those twenty years of search have taken, but even more all the strain that was left in its stead. It was a living thing to his senses, that strain. It hovered like a dark aura that was battled by her serene composure, and was only now beginning to be pushed back by the ignited spark of hope and elation she was feeling. But the dark aura was still there. It needed to be destroyed in its roots.

He nodded as he was holding her gaze and spoke with strong but kind voice:

"It was a great burden to carry it alone all this time. You do not need to carry it alone anymore; you do not need to carry it at all, in fact. I will do all that is within my power to see that it wasn't for naught.

"I am the kind of man that does not believe in fate, but what I do believe in is balance, and what I know is that the Creator is never indebted, or remains indebted to anyone. Everything is paid and repaid as deserved; and the first part of what is your due, Moiraine, your reward for all of these years is about to come to you right now."

They passed out of the hallway, and entered the grand central hall. Just as yesterday, there were people about on the walkways and galleries, a low murmur of their voices rising and climbing all the way up before being broken up into a pleasant hum.

Moiraine turned her head toward the South Wing, which could be glimpsed through the great windows from where they were walking from. She could sense the women that were channeling, even though there were many walls between them and her. Almost a dozen sources. _Strong_ sources. Her heart started beating faster.

How strong were these women? How _skilled_ were these women? A realization came to her then, a thought born of all that she had experienced only minutes ago in Rand's work chambers – that unlike her, these women had had Rand's guidance for _years_.

It suddenly felt that instead of walking into a garden of ripe fruit ready to be plucked and taken to the White Tower, she was walking into a den of lionesses, with her being the one that is fresh meat.

She took a deep breath and embraced serenity. No strength in One Power, no skill in channeling; serenity and spirit were all that she had now.

"How many women channelers are there?" she asked, as her thoughts settled and came to terms with it all.

"Manetheren has sixty-eight," Rand responded.

She was stunned. "That many?!"

He looked at her weirdly.

"In the entirety of Manetheren, yes," he said, "but there is no more than forty or fifty at any given moment in the immediate area of Emond's Field. They are not prisoners of the South Wing, Moiraine; that's their base of operations. There might be as few as ten of them there at this moment."

"But such a concentration of non-White-Tower channelers at one spot!" she breathed.

Rand stop dead in his tracks right there in the middle of the hall, and looked at her with a stunned expression of his own. He spoke slowly:

"Just how many Aes Sedai are there at this very moment?"

Moiraine sighed imperceptibly. There was no point in hiding it, she figured.

"Like our knowledge and strength with the Power, our numbers are declining," she admitted. "There are a bit more than a thousand Aes Sedai, spread out across the world, though there are more Novices and Accepted," she said.

He turned away from her, a low growl coming out of his throat as he looked into the distance.

"I was afraid of that," he said. "There were more than a hundred thousand Aes Sedai in the Age of Legends, you know; and many more people that were channeling, but never held the honor of calling themselves such."

Moiraine was silent for a moment. "Fact?" she asked him cautiously.

"Fact," he said grimly.

She was silent for a moment, looking off to the side with a pensive frown.

"It sounds so unreal," she said. "That number of people is a city unto itself."

"There were billions of people back then, Moiraine," he said as he turned back toward her. "The Breaking has taken its toll on more than just knowledge, but on human kind's ability to maintain high numbers. But what troubles me the most is that even accounting for the reduced number of people that live in this day and age, I had assumed that there would be more than five thousand Aes Sedai in the Tower. How is one supposed to fight the agents of darkness if there are so few of your sisters?"

"That is the truth," she said softly. "We have been in a steady state of decline for the past few hundred years. We never really understood why."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I know the _exact_ reason why," he said. "Tell me, Moiraine, do Aes Sedai have children of their own?"

There was a look of understanding in her eyes.

"Usually no," she admitted after a moment. "Most believe such things are… too trivial compared to an extent of what Aes Sedai are supposed to represent, compared with what they are supposed to do." She frowned. "In fact, I'm not sure that I've heard of a single case of any of the current Aes Sedai having a child."

Rand rumbled deep in his throat, before motioning her to continue their walk toward the South Wing slowly.

"Well, there it is then," he said with finality. "The reason for the decline of Aes Sedai's numbers is clear as a day. There is little or no children by Aes Sedai, and what's more, you are severing male channelers when you find them, which inevitably leads to their death soon after, without leaving any offspring of their own."

Moiraine frowned, then nodded.

"There are theories advocated by some of the more scholarly Aes Sedai," she said. "They advocate the idea that the ability to channel can be transferred to children through parents. I was very much inclined to believe them. It was that which made me believe that there would be many women in the lands of the Two Rivers who would have the ability to channel. The Old Blood runs deep here."

She looked at him sideways. "You are saying that those theories are true, aren't you?"

"It's not what I'm saying, Moiraine; it's how things _are_," he responded.

"Then what is the reason for the cases where Aes Sedai did have children, the children themselves lacked the ability?" she asked hopefully. "If anyone can explain it, then it must be you."

He nodded.

"The ability is there," he said. "What you need to understand is that the ability to channel depends on something called _the genes_. To put it in words that you can understand – it is _carried_ by blood, and it rarely pops up just like that if there is no blood relation. The ability might not manifest in the child, true, or maybe even in the grandchild, but it since it is carried in the blood, it _will_ manifest sooner or later. The greater the concentration of blood in the child's parentage is, the greater the chance that the child will be born having the ability."

He sighed as he shook his head, then continued:

"The problem with the world is that not only that Aes Sedai destroy the male side of the ability, they themselves _refuse_ to contribute! They've found reason against having offspring, even with ordinary men. I might be willing to go so far as to say that the idea of severing the maddened male channelers was a necessary evil, but what I cannot, and what I _will_ _not_ abide is the attitude that the White Tower has adopted on the whole matter, and to which they refuse to turn their eyes to. That kind of attitude is unwittingly culling the human kind's ability to channel, and I'll have none of that. None! That is why this place exists. And that is why you will _not_ lose your nerve when you find out all of our secrets."

Moiraine took a deep, steadying breath, and gave a solemn nod. She had no problem believing Rand's words, or the idea that was behind them. Male channelers to leave possibly channeling offspring? If any Red sister were to hear of it, she would be furious. But what Reds believed was no concern of hers anymore; the world was about to be changed. Violently. And this man, she knew, was the catalyst.

But despite that, she now felt strangely at peace. She had a strangest feeling – one of those rare, unique feelings – that things would be alright; and that even those other nerve-wrecking secrets that he was referring to would not shake her.

"I best keep that open mind," she murmured as they passed the guarded doorway that led from the great hall into the main corridor of the South Wing.

It was a strange mix of excitement and trepidation that held her firmly in its hold as they were walking down the corridor. Almost immediately, she could sense the residues of channeling all around her. It felt familiar; comforting. It was like she was walking the corridors of the Tower, only – not. It was different. The women she was meeting were different. More powerful in many ways, she knew – not just the inherited blood.

"Sixty women," she almost whispered in amazement. "Sixty _skilled_ women, all right here, in the Two Rivers."

"Not all of the women are originally from the Two Rivers," Rand clarified. "More than half are, but many had come from Tarabon and Arad Doman with the refugees. We found them all, trained them, and given them purpose through serving the rise of Manetheren; they had taken to it readily. People need something to believe in, especially the ones that had gone through terror such as the refugees have. That is why it is our duty never to betray them. But it is also our duty to make them understand that they are the ones that must work on this new nation, as well. The women who were trained in the channeling understood it flawlessly."

"Who trained them?" she asked. "Who trained the first ones?"

He was silent for a moment. "I did."

It was Moiraine's turn to stop dead in her tracks. She was just looking at him for a while, without any discernable expression, except maybe realization. After a few long moments of grave silence, she spoke slowly:

"I don't doubt it for a second. But _saidin _and_ saidar_ are incompatible. You might have knowledge of that weave that enables you to see flows of saidar, but that doesn't mean that you can know exactly how it works…"

He was only silent, looking at her, calling her silently to voice her logic. She cocked her head, measuring him up.

"But that's not it, isn't it?" she said. "Considering all the things you have shown me earlier, and all the knowledge that you just keep dishing out as if it is something common to you, it makes me believe that there is much more hidden up your sleeve. I need to ask you an absurd question now, but considering your call for an open mind, I have to. Rand, can you channel _saidar_ as well?"

"No," he stated with a firm shake of his head. "I can do many things, but that is not one of them."

"Well, that's a… relief, I suppose," she said. "But, how could you teach a woman how to do it? Did you even know how a woman was supposed to embrace _saidar_?"

"Yes, I did," he said. "I've channeled _saidar_ by being in a link with a woman, long time ago, so I know how _saidar_ behaves. Don't ask me how or when did that happen, though."

"One of those 'I'll explain eventually' things?" she asked.

He nodded, then continued:

"As for teaching them the weaves themselves, it was a matter of knowing the core. The prime principles of channeling, and of means how to _make_ an effect on the physical world are based on that physical world. That means they are the same for both men and women. Using _En'gon_, for instance, in certain conjunctions with _Haon_ will always make a certain physical effect. Always. The difference is: how must a woman weave _En'gon_ into _Haon_ as opposed to man in order to achieve the same effect?

"Half of the time that was enough – these women are smart, especially once that spark in their minds was ignited – but when the other half came to be, that the woman couldn't figure it out solely based on the prime principles, I'd explain it to her by following one simple rule. It worked like a charm. Every single time."

"And that rule is?"

He shrugged.

"I'd tell her to weave it with _saidar _in a way that if I were to do it with _saidin,_ it would either kill me, cripple me, or simply feel as foul as if I was being raped. There is no other secret to it."

He turned and continued walking with Moiraine following closely behind.

"Makes sense, when you think on it," she muttered.

"It does, doesn't it?" he said.

When they reached the end, the hallway branched both ways and went around a single wall that blocked the view of the great double door that was wide open on the other side.

They had entered a great domed hall, not unlike the great entrance hall, only slightly smaller, and thus appearing more crowded. There were no floors, only one gallery mid-height that ran all around, which was connected with four hanging bridges that joined in the middle on a circular pathway that surrounded a large world globe, not unlike the smaller one in Rand's work chamber. Above it, from the top of the ceiling, hung a large representation of what could be none other than stellar bodies. Their true representation.

And down on the ground floor and on the galleries, the women mingled; the channelers of Manetheren. There seemed to be roughly twenty of them all around, going about single, or in pairs or in small groups. Most seemed to be busy with something as they sat or stood next to numerous work desks that had odd apparatus on them, books (plenty of books) and most importantly, objects of Power.

The women were working with the objects, and they were channeling to diverse means indiscriminately.

At any given moment there were at least two or three of them channeling, sometimes more. There were numerous weaves about, and she could sense the women's individual power, which only confirmed what she had sensed yesterday: the median average of these women's strength in the Power was greater than was the average of the White Tower. Noticeably greater.

Though the White Tower had greater diversity, and though Moiraine herself was a bit more powerful than most of the women here, she could not deny the fact that there were a couple of them that in fact _were_ more powerful than her.

"Come," Rand said. "I want to show you around while nobody sees us."

"You've channeled to hide us from view?" she asked, deducing the most obvious means.

"No. Ta'veren is a much more subtle mean than any form of channeling."

He led her into the hall with a sure step, passing unnoticed by the women. Moiraine could look and see everything that they were doing in turn, which mostly consisted of channeling – or what rather seemed to be practicing the various complex weaves, to be precise – or studying the scriptures in books.

There were so many weaves that were unknown to her that it was staggering. Many of the weaves seemed to be doing nothing, yet women that were in groups were studying them carefully, pointing certain things out to one another as they were consulting books. Odd, that, she thought. The White Tower did not depict drawings of weaves in books, nor study them back from such means; the nature of weaves is not such that it can be done so practically. And how come these women have such books? Did they print them themselves?

"Is it safe to talk?" she asked with a hush.

"Yes, but don't yell," he chuckled.

"Good," she said as she looked around her. "Tell me how is it possible that these women learn weaves from books?"

Rand looked down at her with a confused look, to what she pointed out what she was seeing.

"Oh, that," he said as he saw what she was pointing at. "No, they are not studying weaves. None of the books here depict weaves; it is impractical." He smiled, and she relaxed. It was comforting to know that the Aes Sedai of this time and Age were not doing _that_ wrong as well. Rand continued:

"Remember what I told you about the basic principles of channeling?" he asked, to what she nodded. "They follow the basic principles of nature. Science explores nature, and the majority of books that you see here are scientific documents. Of course, there is a significant part of this wing that is dedicated to books of history and philosophy, but mostly it is science. By studying the information found in these books and then utilizing it in a smart and responsible way, a channeler can improve or develop new weaves. How else do you think the channelers from the Age of Legends developed so many amazing techniques?"

Moiraine looked around, absorbing everything that she saw or heard. It was a whole new outlook at what was happening here. She could see deep down inside of her that she wanted to be a part of this.

"Tell me of this place," she said wistfully. "What is this South Wing?"

Rand took a sigh of relaxation and looked around the grounds with pride. He nodded after a moment of reflection and spoke:

"The South Wing is actually noting more than a location where we are. What distinguishes it is that it is the home of one branch of a bigger organization, called _Haan al'Naedresan_ – a coined word of _nae, dres_, and _an_ – and it means The Avowers of Knowledge, Usage and Wisdom."

"It sounds a bit over-the-top, don't you think?" Moiraine asked.

"Maybe, but it is necessary to have a name that can be used as a symbol. This name symbolizes the true purpose of what this organization is supposed to be, as well as to have it as a reminder so that one does not unintentionally stray or lead the organization into the wrong paths. Knowing is useless without applying it; usage is dangerous without wisdom; wisdom in itself cannot exist if there is no knowledge. A circle. And it is all connected with the word _haan_.

"You know how Old Tongue is complex, right? Well, _haan_ is a homonym, and can mean 'avowers', but it is also a word of endearment… something like 'darling', perhaps. It matters, because without it, the previous three words might make the organization become just some sterile, logical structure that might think itself more important than the ones it should serve."

She was looking at him with a contemplating look.

"You've poured a lot of personal effort and hope into this, I see," she mused. "It is written in your eyes, in your words, and in your very stance."

"Yes, I did," he admitted. "It is the amalgam of all that Manetheren is, what it should be, and what it _will_ be. It is still in its infancy, only now beginning to stand on its feet and starting to gaze into the world around it, reaching out with its grasp to touch and test how much it can do, but it is growing, and it will grow much more."

"You're placing all of your bets into a few channelers?" Moiraine asked, clearly voicing an uncertainty to the idea.

"No. Look there," he said, and pointed at where two men talked to a few women channelers with one of the men gesticulating wildly. "Those two men are scientists, and have no ability to channel the male half whatsoever. They themselves are a part of the _Haan al'Naedresan_, but they are a part of a different branch, with the majority of their work being done elsewhere. However, the crucial thing is that they work closely together _with_ the channelers in discerning the physics of the world, and they are the ones that are devising ways for practical application by the non-channeling people.

He nodded toward one of the men.

"See that man that is waving his hands? He is from north, from Taren, and his name is Issaik Newtown. He has already discerned the physical properties of the force that makes objects fall, and hold us bound to the ground. The man next to him is a Domani, Nikel Tasla, who studies the nature of lightning for practical engineering purposes.

"And, see that woman over there?" he pointed at another direction. "The one with her hair done in thin long braids? Her name is Aludra. She was one of the members of the Guild of Illuminators, but had to flee for her life when some disagreements escalated. She came here with the war refugees, and decided to help us develop and improve some very powerful siege engines with range superior to any other, and who can wreck any wall in existence; you might very well get the chance to see those at work. Her work is invaluable to ensure Manetheren's competitiveness with other states."

He turned to her before continuing.

"The _Haan_ is a sprawling web, Moiraine. It spans many diverse disciplines: sciences, engineering, medicine, even philosophy, and of course – channeling. That way everybody works together. Nobody can separate from one another and claim that they are the only ones that are important, or claim rule. It enables unprecedented flexibility, so that if something of gigantic proportions were to go awry, the legacy of the _Haan_ would stand much greater chance of surviving and rebuilding."

He spread his arms and turned around. "The South Wing of the People's Palace is the place where channeling is being _studied_, and _explored_. It is more than a place for simply learning how to channel; it is a place to _expand_ into new and unknown expanses of channeling. Come on! Follow me up!" he said, and almost ran up the stairs to the gallery.

From there they were able to look all around the hall and see everything. Rand leaned sideways against the balustrade and spoke to Moiraine who braced against it as she looked across the hall.

"This place holds many objects of Power here. Many of them were buried at various locations, long time ago; whether they were used by Old Manetheren, or were there ever since the Age of Legends is not clear, or important. Most of them are in the repository that lies underneath." He pointed at a fenced-off stairwell that spiraled its way down beneath the ground floor of the hall, and then added with a wry smile: "And no, you can't have any; they're mine! All mine!" To what Moiraine smiled. He continued:

"So, you see, the greatest challenge here is not how to understand to channel, but _why_ does something happen that way when you channel those particular weaves."

Moiraine smiled as she remembered their earlier conversation.

"Like that when you said that it matters what a weave is in its core," she said. "Right before I _accused_ you of being a channeler."

"Exactly!" he grinned predatorily, with a glint in his eye. It looked like a glimpse into a slightly mad mind; but it made her wonder if there was something about it that made it 'his thing'.

"Look down there, for instance," he continued as he motioned with his eyes alone, "See those two women over there? They're studying and comparing information in several books, but the books are closed; they are using a weave to help them with that. Can you see what that weave does?"

Moiraine studied a strange, sprawling weave of Earth, Air, Spirit and Fire that one of the women was maintaining and directing. The numerous thin threads of the weave were sprawling across and into the numerous books, woven together as densely as aged spider webs, from where they adjoined into a single thread per book and rose up into the air where they made glowing scriptures that were visible to all.

"I imagine that the weave is 'reading' pages of those books and displaying them in the air," she said at last.

Again, that gleam in his eye as he smirked. "Go deeper into the matter," he said.

She studied the weaves some more, then spoke.

"The weave they use is able to read all the pages, but they can choose to select the pages that they want displayed… Oh, my…" she trailed off in surprised realization. "The weave obviously enables them to compare several different sources from several different books in search of the one that they want! They can change the pages and text that appears in the air on the fly… all without losing themselves in mountains of paper! That is… useful beyond measure! I am going to have to try that weave."

Rand was smiling mysteriously as he gauged her reactions, never diverting his gaze from her face.

"Hmmm… go deeper," his voice rumbled. "Tell me how their weave does what it does."

Moiraine nodded.

"The tendrils of the weave that touch the books are made of Earth –_Tirson_, that is –"

"No, by all means," Rand interrupted. "Use the nomenclature that's easier for you. This is not a test of names."

She nodded again and continued:

"The Earth tendrils that touch y are passed into the weaves of Air through… oh… now that I look a bit better, that part of the weave isn't as simple as I thought."

"Go on," Rand urged her.

"That intricate part of the weave is where the channeler connects to the whole weave. There is a thread of Spirit that connects to her head and sprawls across her mind. From that juncture, tendrils of air go up, and then threads of fire are… injected into them, making it glow and becoming visible."

"Now," Rand started. "Why do you think that the aspect you call Earth is used on the books?"

Moiraine thought on it. "Because of the ink," she realized. "The ink might be liquid, but dried ink is like caked dirt! The weaves pick out the shape of the letters – of all the letters – and raise them to be transformed into air."

She smiled. "That's where threads of Spirit come in play. The channelers think on the word they want, and the… transforming part is being directed, to sift through and pick at relevant data, so that only it is shown in the glowing script in mid-air. And what's more, the weave does not even use that lot of strength… even a woman with low affinities for the aspects could use it."

"So," Rand spoke after a few short moments. "Do you think you could have discovered that weave on your own?"

Moiraine was silent for a long while, before shaking her head, as if in disbelief.

"No," she said. "It is a strange weave; an unnatural weave. Most of the weaves that are discovered without someone showing how they work first are only the 'natural' ones. Those are weaves that make fire, lightning, solidify air or make winds blow, form mist, or even weaves that influence a person's mind, but this one… this one is not just complex; it is a weave that has no 'natural' equivalent."

She seemed to think a bit more, then turned around and took a random book from a bookshelf that spanned the wall behind them. She placed it on a nearby table, and attempted the weave herself. She had to look down more than once to where the two women were maintaining their weave in order to see all of its intricacies. As she was working it out, however, the flows of this seemingly unnatural weave started to slip into place on their own, just like flows of a natural weave would.

A moment later, the weave started to form, but something was off. She couldn't make it stable; a part of it kept slipping out of her grasp.

Rand spoke then:

"You're having trouble forming the part of _Haon_ and _En'gon_ that shows glowing letters, aren't you?"

"How do you know that?" she asked.

"I know channeling," he said. "And I know weaves; and I know where _everybody_ errs the first time when it comes to that particular weave.

"You've seen this weave as the two women were maintaining it down there, so it seemed to be a 'still' weave." He shook his head. "That's not the case. This weave is a 'shifting' weave, like the weaves you've seen that surround my own body. It is not formed at start the way you've seen it down there, but gains that shape depending on how it is used."

He motioned with his head in a general direction of where he suspected she was making the weave.

"Forget about the _Haon_-and-_En'gon_ part. Do it like this: leave those weaves sprawled at the base where they merge with _Tirson_, in the way that they can blossom out, and make them… acceptant of your _Psion_ threads so that they can draw on it."

"Is that how you do it?" she asked.

"Light, no!" he laughed. "That's a female way. I have to make _Haon-_and-_En'gon_ part coiled in the way that they are at 'the ready' to spring up the moment they receive a corresponding impulse from _Psion_ threads. If I were to do it in your way, my male _Psion_ would punch through and rip that _Haon-En'gon_ mesh to shreds!"

Moiraine thought on it, then simply went for it in a way that was most natural to her that could adhere to Rand's first advice. The female way. Threads followed suit almost immediately and stabilized, but nothing happened. She looked askance at Rand, and he spoke:

"Now, concentrate on a word…" he looked down at the book as he was remembering what it was about. "'Ogier', and then send it through the spirit thread."

As Moiraine did so, several pages of gold-glowing letters appeared in neat cascaded stack in front of her, with several instances of 'Ogier' word glowing blue on the closest one. It was an account of a poorly-known city of Nara el'Shar from the period of the Ten Nations that had been built by the Ogier, and had had a Waygayte.

She imagined shifting the pages, but they started flying all over the place.

"It's easier if you use hands to direct them, until you gain a bit of practice," Rand said.

"It is a most amazing weave," Moiraine after a few moments of experimenting, then released the threads and let the weave fade away. She turned to Rand and spoke:

"How is it possible that you have discovered this kind of complex weave on your own?"

"I experimented," he said pointedly. "I had plenty of prior knowledge, true, but even if I didn't, I know that I could have found it by studying the meaning of _En'gon_, _Haon, Vel'won_ and _Tirson_, and their mechanics. And when you're done with that, you go about with trial and error."

He straightened up from where he was leaning against the balustrade.

"You see, Moiraine, making what you call 'natural' effects with the five aspects of the Power is easy. Fire, wind, gale or lightning storm – all of those are easy. The nature functions in those lines already – the Pattern makes nature function like that already; and since the Pattern itself is made by threads of the True Source, then it stands that it will be easy for a person who can channel to form weaves that mimic the natural effects.

"But, how will you make something that does _not_ go with the flow of nature? How will you make a gateway for Traveling that inherently defies the continuum of space and time – the thing which is the natural state of the Pattern? How will you make traps, or weaves that activate only if certain conditions are met, and after many years if needed? For that you need planning. You need structuring. You need to _engineer_ the weaves, after which you tie them off – for a lack of a better term – so that they can maintain themselves. You need something that only us humans have, and that is imagination; and with it, a little bit of madness that will push you to experiment, even if you're afraid of what you might stumble upon.

"So… are you a little bit mad, Moiraine? Are you willing to go further than what your peers are saying is safe or possible? Are you willing to see and understand the reason why Aes Sedai of today _seem_ so much weaker than the Aes Sedai of the Age of Legends?"

Moiraine was silent for a bit, thinking on the entire situation. She turned to him at last, and spoke:

"How would you feel if someone were to come to you and tell you that most of the things that you've known, things that have defined you and kindled your soul throughout some of the most difficult times of your life are nothing more than… than novice level?

"How _would_ you feel, Rand, really? To realize that there is a whole new world out there and that once again you are like a child? Except that unlike a child, you are an adult and you had had your hopes and dreams that now seem so much smaller and childish? How would you feel?"

Rand's eyes were glowing with a knowing smile.

"You must hate me now, right?" he said teasingly.

That drew out a tiny smile in the corner of her lips. She looked across the hall, and one could almost see the imagination her mind was conjuring.

"No," she said with finality as she looked back at him. "I don't hate you. In fact, I am grateful. I know that a part of me should feel anger, or a sensation of helplessness, and maybe… maybe at some minute, insignificant level I do. But something like that would be petty, and is nothing compared to the sensation of endless possibilities that are being given to me, right here and now, just for the taking.

"I feel that I can't wait to discover more of the things that you have here, the elation at the prospect of knowing these things, and the desire of discovering more. But a deep, dark part of me still wonders if these feelings are mine, _really_ mine, and not a fabric of some ter'angreal that is buried underneath this Palace, and that all of this is just some elaborate lie. It seems too good to be true."

He was silent, listening to her carefully.

"But the Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills," she said at last. "Even if it was a lie, even if the sensations weren't mine, I know that everything happens for a reason. No one knows the Great Pattern the Wheel weaves, or even the Pattern of an Age. We can only watch, and study, and hope. Therefore, I'll take that leap of faith."

There was a silence between them, interrupted by the sounds of people going about and around them, leaving them undisturbed and cloaked from their notice.

"So," he spoke first. "What are you going to do now?"

"I want to learn things," she said. "Even if you don't give me everything, I will do everything that I can to obtain them.

He smiled broadly. "That's the spirit any teacher wants to hear."

Moiraine harrumphed. "I'm old enough to be your mother, and you're the one to teach me?" she shook her head. "I suppose that these are strange times that we live in. Are there more weaves that I can learn from you?"

"Many more," he said. "But first you need to learn certain… laws of nature so that you can apply them properly. For that, you need to study some things – a few days would suffice – and for that you need a tutor that can channel _saidar_. That would of course mean that you would have to leave your rank behind. Is that alright with you?"

"It will be."

"Let's go down, then," he said. "We'll make ourselves seen by the people."

They walked down from the gallery and to the entrance from whence they came. There was a matronly-looking middle-aged woman with braided hair and wearing what Moiraine came to recognize as that classy Manetheren style of dress standing there, looking studiously at a bookshelf, as if she was trying to find a better way of organizing it.

"Ailene," Rand spoke up, and the woman started as she turned about.

"_Oh! Ayden, Rand_," she greeted him informally. "_Ind'asa jhin. Irashye na enderye el'den?_"

Rand talked in common tongue as he pointed at Moiraine.

"I came to introduce a special friend. This is Moiraine Damodred, Aes Sedai of the Blue Ajah of the White Tower. I assume you've already known of her arrival yesterday? Moiraine, this is Ailene al'Nemar, and she is the custodian of the South Wing proper."

"Of course I know of your arrival, Moiraine Sedai," Ailene smiled ingratiatingly. "The whole town was abuzz with your arrival, and more so than usual. New things appear in Manetheren every day, yet it takes something special to make people restless this much."

"Perhaps because of the history of Manetheren?" Moiraine ventured. "I understand that something you call the blood memories had started to occur in the original populace of the Two Rivers, and that you're starting to remember things such as having Aes Sedai queen."

"That's the most obvious reason," Ailene said. "They're probably making up scenarios pertaining that, right as we speak."

"Scenarios?" Moiraine asked wondrously.

"Oh, you know – the 'imagine if she were to marry Lord Rand, or Lord Perrin' scenarios."

Moiraine rolled her eyes. She knew _exactly_ of these kinds of things among commoners. Rand in turn shrugged.

"Well, what're you gonna do?" he said. "There are always such talks, even in Manetheren; but our people are smarter than that."

"Are you telling me that there might not be a rumor that you've already married in a week or so?" Moiraine asked unabashedly.

"There won't," he said. "Manethereners don't take to fancy rumors. It's a national mentality thing."

"And I can vouch for that," Ailene added. "We used to have been a village community that dealt primarily in herding. There was very little tolerance for people that cried 'wolf' for no reason."

"Well, let's hope that's true," Moiraine said, then turned pointedly to Rand. "People need something to believe, you said it yourself."

He just shrugged, then addressed Ailene:

"Is Nynaeve around?"

"No, unfortunately. Something happened in the barracks some time earlier that required her talents. I'd wager some soldiers got overexcited and injured themselves."

"Barracks?" Rand seemed to think on something, then turned to Moiraine. "Isn't that where you said Lan went?"

"Yes, but I can sense him through our Warder bond. He's not injured, though I do know for a fact that he did engage in some physical activity while he was there."

"You can do that with the Warder bond?" Rand asked.

"Yes. He was not physically distressed, and there were no feelings of alarm or fear coming from him."

A warder bond. An intriguing thing, Rand thought, then. There were no such things during the Age of Lews.

"Someday, perhaps, you'll share some of your knowledge," he said.

Moiraine shrugged. "Someday."

"All right, then," he steered the conversation, talking in a very serious tone. "We did not come here for simple chit-chat. There are things that need to be done and little time to do it. First of all, Moiraine, what you need to know now is that all of the women here _know_ that I _have_ the ability to channel."

He could see that Moiraine understood the word play perfectly: he channeled; nobody knew to what an extent. For that matter, how strong was he, anyway? She herself didn't know, either. Rand kept talking:

"Truth be told, there was no way for me to hide my ability and teach them at the same time; that is the reason why you know of it as well – I am going to teach you things. As you've realized by now, there is a world of possibilities that you were not aware of before. It is only a glimpse of what was _once_ possible, but trust me, if we work together, we will be able to achieve _more_ than what was possible during the Age of Legends. That is my firm belief."

He waited out a few moments, to let that sink in, then spoke to Ailene.

"There are some things that Moiraine needs to learn, and your help will be invaluable, since you are the custodian, and you know this place inside-out. When it comes to skill, though, Nynaeve is the one that I need the most in that matter. I need her to work with Moiraine the most."

"Nynaeve?" Ailine raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure, Rand?" there was an unspoken 'is that wise?' in there that was clear to all of them.

"No doubt about it," he said seriously. "Nynaeve is the one woman channeler that encompasses both skill and the wisdom to pass it on. She was not favored by the old village Wisdom as the most prominent successor for nothing, and that is why she is the leader of the women here."

"Perhaps," Ailene acceded, "but Nynaeve is notorious for making people either do it her way or no way," she said. "You are the only one she ever listens to."

Rand looked down at Moiraine, with a long and careful look. Then, the left corner of his mouth rose into a smirk.

"Don't worry, Ailene," he said. "I sense that the two of them will hit it off quite nicely. Now, tell me, is Egwene here?"

"Yes, she's over there, at the far end," Ailene pointed.

"Alright, then," Rand said as he used his supreme height to look over people's heads. "We'll leave you to your business now, Ailene. _Irashai_."

"_Irashai_," she greeted him back, and Rand motioned Moiraine to follow him.

He spoke in slightly hushed tone as they walked slowly.

"The girl we are about to meet is the second strongest in channeling power among all of the women here, and I'm willing to say that she has the greatest potential of them all."

"I sense there's a 'but' somewhere around there," Moiraine remarked.

Rand sighed, and for the entire world it seemed as if it was the heaviest sigh she had ever heard him have.

"That's true," he said. "She's smart, strong, skilled, not afraid to experiment, but she believes she is always right."

"Sounds a lot like someone I've recently met," Moiraine jabbed.

"Ha-ha," Rand said sarcastically. "This is a bit different than that. She is as strong-willed as any of the Two Rivers' folk, but what do you think that means when you pair it up with being one of the youngest and most powerful channelers to boot?"

"I can see what you mean," Moiraine said after a moment. "The White Tower has the same problem with its Novices and Accepted, except that we have methods of culling that kind of behavior in its root that have been perfected over millennia. That's why I felt that these women should be trained in the Tower… though, when I think about it, I realize now that the White Tower couldn't handle them… _especially_ if the infamous Manetheren stubbornness is true."

"Maybe you have a point about White Tower," he said. "But that's a risk for many reasons, and frankly, we," and there the 'we' sounded as if he was referring to none other than the two of them, "don't have that kind of luxury."

"But that still leaves you with a problem pertaining this girl," she said.

"Not if you step in."

"I'd be willing to lend you any kind of help that I can," she said cautiously, "but if she's as powerful and as skilled as you say, not to mention strong-willed, any guidance I might attempt might be miniscule."

"That's where an interesting paradox comes in," he said. "Egwene believes that Aes Sedai are by default the most powerful channelers – period! – and that nothing we do here is even close to the thing that they are capable of."

"Playing the Aes Sedai indomitability card? I can't lie, Rand, remember? I can evade, but if she's smart, she'll have no difficulty seeing it at that very moment, and I don't see how shattering her illusions can help anyone."

"Ah, now, that's where you'll realize that there are two types of cruelty" he said, motioning with his finger. "There's cruelty for the sake of cruelty, and there's 'cruelty' for the sake of improvement. If Egwene's illusions are shattered, then she might turn into a bitter person, true… but between you and Nynaeve, she just might become something better."

She was silent for a moment. "You care about this young woman, don't you?"

"In a brotherly fashion, yes," he said, then pointed with his head forward. "And, there she is."

They came to a desk on which there were a number of objects of Power, and a young woman who was turned with her back toward them stood there, channeling. She was a very short girl, with long brown hair held back from her face with a single red ribbon.

Moiraine was paying close attention to the weaves she was making, then spoke in hushed tone:

"Um… I know you're an advocate of experimenting," she said uncertainly. "But what she's doing seems way too dangerous from where I stand."

Rand frowned, then looked toward what Egwene was doing, paying close attention to the objects of Power she was dabbling with. _Light, she better not be doing _that, he thought.

"Egwene," he called to her, to which the girl jumped with a start.

In that instant, a blinding white flash, followed by a deafening high-pitched whiplash sound rattled the entire South Wing.

Blinding white had turned to colored shadows and shapes of the last thing seen. The sounds were gone, replaced by ringing in the ears that slowly abated and was replaced by muffled sounds of alarm. Moiraine didn't know how long the stun lasted, but she had remained on her feet, slightly bent down, and covering her ears.

She blinked a few times as the world slowly took shape around her, then removed her hands from her ears. The sounds had come back now, and she could hear the din of alarmed people. One mighty roar overpowered them all.

"EGWENE, LIGHT BLAST IT!"

Moiraine looked sideways and saw Rand, as pissed off as a father of all that's wrath, starring death at the pretty young woman with large brown eyes that was hopping in one spot, shaking her hands vigorously, as if she was burnt, before settling down and staring back at him with what was a startled look, which was quickly covered by anger of her own.

"Experimenting with unknown methods _inside_ the South Wing?!" Rand roared at her. "How many times have you been told NOT to do that? HOW MANY?! South Wing is for research, not experimenting! Are you sitting on your ears, or are you just bloody insane? Your little bundle of joy could have killed us all! What the blazes were you thinking?!"

"Rand al'Thor, you idiot!" she yelled back. "I was so close! I would have had it if you didn't interru –"

She was cut off by Rand's even greater boom:

"I don't bloody care how close you were to anything! The experimenting is done at the testing polygon for a reason, because everybody _knows_ that there's fire flying over there! That's what it was _made_ for! Are you telling me that these people are supposed to know what you are about to do all the time, and make concessions just for your sake?!"

"I am _not_ about to go all the way to the polygon for a weave so small, and one that would have taken minutes at the most," she countered with her logic. "Something like that would be utterly senseless, and besides, it is _your_ fault for interfering!"

Moiraine had thought that one man couldn't get any madder than what Rand already was. She realized she was wrong. At Egwene's words, his face turned from fury-marred incredulousness, to plain and simple fury. He was so red-faced that even the whites of his eyes were gone. She knew instinctively, that if she didn't do something, anything – then something irreparable might happen between these two young people.

She jumped in front of him, and dealt him a slap on the face as hard as she could.

You could hear a pin drop from a mile away. In that second, in that tiniest moment, Moiraine felt that she had not been so frightened in her entire life.

"Can we do this later, for crying out loud!" she called out, her exasperated voice echoing across the silenced hall, leaving her amazed that she could voice anything at all.

Just she said that, two things flashed in the corners of her eyes. On one side, there was a longest braid she had ever seen, zooming pass her toward where Egwene stood; on the other, a grayish color-shifting cloak, and a blade that flashed between her and Rand's neck, and quivered there while a strange glow emanated from the edge, as if an invisible barrier had stopped it before it reached the skin. There was sound of scuffle behind her, and another loud slap.

Silence.

"Lan," Moiraine said, working the strength of her voice. "If you value both of our lives, you will sheath that sword."

A moment that passed like an eternity before the blade slowly moved, the glow of the barrier near Rand's skin fading away with it. The sword slid into the scabbard and clicked into place, after which there was a collective sigh of relief. All except Rand, who stood stoically, with a firm set to his jaw and a pained look in his eyes.

"Rand, I'm sorry," Moiraine started in a rush, "Lan was just doing his duty of protecting me, don't take this against us."

Rand sighed, and the corner of his lips turned into a slight smile, "Why would I? You seem to be doing a fine job as an anchor already, Moiraine. I'm sorry that you had to do it like this."

She gathered her composure and nodded. "Well, it happens to everyone sometimes," she said.

It was then that she heard Egwene who sounded as incredulous as if she saw a manbearpig:

"Why did you slap _me_, Nynaeve?"

"Because I saw it all, Egwene," Nynaeve gave an immediate sharp response. "Frankly, I have _had_ it with you misusing the shear scope of the freedom that was given to you!"

Moiraine finally turned to see what was going on behind her, and as to who the new arrival was.

She saw a very pretty young woman – beautiful, even – with a very long and thick braid going across her right shoulder. She held Egwene by the wrist, and wore an angry frown and a sour downturn of her lips that didn't manage to mar her pretty features one least bit.

"Misuse?" Egwene asked incredulously. "Freedom? All I see is 'don't this, and don't that'! Why should I adhere to that if I know for a fact that I _can_ do things my way without truly hurting anyone?"

"Because it's reckless, child," Moiraine spoke with all the authority of Aes Sedai.

She herself was amazed that she spoke up at all, but it was as if for a moment she was a passenger on a boat that was helmed by the Aes Sedai in her.

"I know that you are young," she kept on. "I know that your mind is full of ideas, and that you want those ideas to be heard and employed. But there is a fine line between expediency and recklessness, and youth lacks wisdom in seeing it."

Egwene had a defeated look on her face.

"You… you're taking Rand's side, Aes Sedai?" she asked. "Didn't you just slap him?"

"It was either me – a small and frail woman – slapping him, or it would have been him – a tall, strong, young man – slapping you; which do you think would have been more damaging? Because, I assure you, one of the two _would_ have happened."

"B-but Two River's men don't hit women," Egwene spoke, slightly incredulous.

It was Nynaeve that spoke then, putting a word or two of her own:

"That's because Two River's women have the wisdom in them to not act like fools, girl," she snapped. "Even if you were a woman, _I_ would have put you over my knee if I were in Rand's skin, but the last time I checked, your hair was _not_ in a braid! And children. Get. Disciplined. Need I remind you that the only reason you are allowed in the South Wing as such is because you had proven that you have the brains. Don't make us rethink the validity of that proof."

Egwene lowered her eyes. There was a sense of deflation coming out of her. There was a moment of silence.

"I am sorry, everyone," Egwene spoke at last in a quiet tone. "I didn't mean for anyone to be hurt."

"We know, child," Moiraine spoke then, soothingly, as she took a couple of step toward her. "But there is a time and place for everything. Rules are not meant to stop anyone, or to prevent you from achieving everything that you can be. On the contrary! They're made to guide you to _become_ the best you can be.

"I have known Rand but for a day, but it was enough to have no doubt in my mind that he wants for you to become all that you can be. All you need to do in turn, is to trust the guidelines he had made."

Egwene was looking up from beneath her eyelashes with a look of reverence, absorbing every word. She looked back down at the end, and nodded.

Nynaeve, who up until then was looking sideways at Moiraine, carefully measuring up both her and her words, sighed and spoke to Egwene:

"Regarless to your understanding, you cannot go unscathed away from this," she said. "Life isn't fair, it won't coddle you, so neither will I."

Promptly, Nynaeve embraced _saidar_ and channeled a quick flow of intricate spirit threads, placing them over Egwene. The young girl winced as the weave settled on her.

"No channeling until I remove the _sai'vron_," Nynaeve stated. "I'll know instantly if you do. You are also temporarily restricted from the South Wing."

"Until when?" Egwene asked hopefully.

"Until I deem it fit," Nynaeve spoke with intensity. "Now, off with you!"

Egwene swallowed, then looked to the ground and walked away without looking at anyone. Nynaeve, with her arms folded under her breasts, waited until Egwene was safely out of earshot before speaking.

"Honestly, I don't know what to do with her," she sighed. "She's a handful for any one person, and I can't babysit her all the time."

Moiraine spoke carefully:

"You're not placing a shield on her?" she asked.

"What's the point?" Nynaeve said as she followed Egwene with her look as she was leaving the hall. "With _sai'vron_ in place, anyone can channel, but I'll know if that happens, and believe me, she'd be better off with Rand's slaps than with me if she does that. This is to see if she has the character to refrain on her own."

She then turned toward Moiraine, struck a pose with her hip out and arms akimbo, and truly appraised the woman for the first time.

"So… you're the Aes Sedai everyone's been talking about?" she asked.

There was that moment, right there, when two women channelers were meeting for the first time; one even needed not be a channeler at all to know that something was happening. It was in the air, and it was palpable. It lived and breathed, and it was the strongest right between the two women, right where their gazes crossed. One could almost see the proverbial lightning sparks dancing between.

But there never was any malice. Not on Moiraine's part anyway. She had known the very first moment Nynaeve appeared that the young woman was stronger than she was; now, it was only confirmed. This young woman was much, _much_ stronger than her, even if the _angreal_ and _ter'angreal_ she wore as jewelry were to be removed.

Moiraine took those few seconds under _saidar _to use her enhanced senses to appraise Nynaeve. Now that she had the moment, she realized that this was a really interesting young woman.

What at first she thought was a dress, turned out to be broad, flaring bell-shaped leggings that only gave the appearance of a dress. Oddly enough, even though they were in fact a kind of trousers, they were surprisingly feminine-looking. The dark corset vest she wore on top of her white embroidered shirt was heavily embroidered as well, but for all its daintiness, there was an air about this woman that made it seem almost like a piece of armor. The belt that had a small purse and a sheathed knife hanging from it, which she wore across her generous hips only added to that feeling, looking nothing less than something like a female version of a male sword belt.

But that knife at her belt was nothing next to the three objects of Power that she wore: an odd _ter'angreal_ on her left forefinger, which looked like ornately-engraved plate that covered her entire finger; a broad armor-looking bracer _ter'angreal_ that went over the back of her left hand and down the entire length of her forearm; and finally, a small plain-looking bracelet _angreal_ on her right wrist.

Moiraine caught herself from wanting to examine the artifacts and lifted her gaze to meet Nynaeve's. She nodded politely in greeting and answered Nynaeve's previous question:

"Yes, indeed, I am the Aes Sedai. My name is Moiraine Damodred, and I am Aes Sedai of the Blue Ajah of White Tower," she said, then added. "And you are by far the strongest woman channeler I had ever seen, Miss Nynaeve."

Nynaeve raised her eyebrow in surprise. "Is that so?" she asked, then nodded, tilting her head sideways. "Thanks, I suppose."

She then lifted a finger and pointed it at Moiraine in a cautionary manner.

"But I'm keeping my eye on you, none the less," she stated firmly. "The very fact that you're here means that you know about Rand. I don't know where your thoughts lie concerning that, and I don't care, but if I hear you, or any other Aes Sedai, so much as _hint_ at taking him to the White Tower to be gentled, there'll be blood and ashes to pay! Are we clear?"

Moiraine had to smile at the loyalty this young spitfire woman had when it came to Rand. She nodded sincerely as she spoke:

"Indeed we are," she said calmly, then looked sideways at Rand. "Though I doubt anyone, or even any group, could do anything like that."

Nynaeve sniffed, and a sour turn of her lips turned into a slight smile.

"You got that right," she said. "He surely is the most stubborn idiot I've ever seen." Then, something caught her attention and she glanced sideways, then made a snappish comment: "And what are _you_ smiling at?"

Rand, temporarily forgotten by everyone, was standing to the side next to Lan, watching the two women with a smirk on his lips as he rubbed his chin. His eyes were boring into each of them in turn.

"Oh, I am just happy to see you two getting along so well," he said. "I knew that bringing Moiraine into Egwene's lectures would be a good thing." He lifted his hands with his palms turned skyward. "And look how great you two did that on your own, without me even having to point you to it."

Nynaeve rolled her eyes and grabbed her long braid with one hand. "Ugh! You and your machinations!" She spoke in annoyance, and yanked the braid once before letting go. "Sometimes I feel that life would have been so much simpler around here if you did not suddenly turn into…" she lifted both her arms toward him, then finished. "Into… that!"

She dropped her arms and took a deep sigh, then turned to look at Moiraine, thinking things through.

"So, you want to help with Egwene's apprenticeship into the One Power?" she asked.

"If I can," Moiraine responded.

Nynaeve seemed to think carefully some more as she twirled her braid.

"And how am I to know that your way of teaching won't interfere with my own?" she asked then. "Because I'll have none of that, mind you."

"There won't be any interference," Rand stepped in just then, stating it as if it was how things were naturally going to end up. "Moiraine is going to be learning things, as well. My fears concerning Aes Sedai that I've been telling you about in the previous months have been proven as true. Aes Sedai are not what I hoped they were."

He placed a hand on both Moiraine's and Nynaeve's shoulder, and for a moment, the look he had in his eyes was almost like that of a father.

"Moiraine deserves to learn everything that we have to offer, Nynaeve," he said. "Will you do this for me?"

Nynaeve yanked her braid half-heartedly. "Of course I'll do this for you, you big oaf," she said, her mellow voice being strangely at odds with her stern look. "Why do you even have to ask?!"

"Because I'll have Moiraine use the _Psyatha ter'angreal_," he said gravely. Nynaeve's face turned serious. "I'll need you to monitor her state."

Nynaeve was silent for a few moments, looking up at Rand with a discerning look. At last, she nodded.

"Alright," she said, then glanced at Moiraine before speaking. "Go, and do what needs to be done, then come to me. I'll be waiting here."

Rand motioned Moiraine to follow him, to what Lan silently moved to follow them as well.

"Oh, no you don't," Nynaeve called out and grabbed Lan by the bicep with both of her hands, planting her feet and putting her weight to stopping him. "You still owe me the precise demonstration of how you broke out of my Lady Hold."

Rand stopped abruptly and turned, looking wide-eyed at Lan.

"You broke out of her Lady-Hold?" he asked in surprise.

"He sure did," Nynaeve responded in his stead. "And I'm not separating from him until he shows me how he did that."

Rand looked Lan straight in the eyes, nodded solemnly, and spoke: "Respect!" He then turned and led Moiraine further.

"What is a 'Lady-Hold'?" Moiraine asked him then.

"The most humiliating thing a five-and-a-half feet tall woman could do to a seven feet tall man who is twice her weight," Rand responded, then clarified. "Nynaeve knows human body better than anyone I know, and she knows its limits and weak points. By taking advantage of these, she can make anyone be like puppet in her hands. Imagine what it looks like when a grown man is being casually led around like a dainty lady – by a girl! All because he cannot move his entire arm, because his wrist will be broken if he does. She did that a few times to some of our soldiers who… wanted to prove themselves, should I say? They were some of the recruited Tarabon people, so they didn't know better. Needless to say, that demonstration was enough to make everyone step lightly around Nynaeve."

"I see," Moiraine said, then looked up at him with a tiny smile. "Have you gone through this… most unmanly experience, as well?"

He chuckled darkly. "It was I that taught her," he said. "And it was I who allowed her to the use of my arm so that she could learn how far she can go without breaking it."

"That was noble of you," she said. "Weren't you in pain?"

"There was pain," he said. "But I wasn't _in_ pain. I know how to utterly ignore it when the need arises. Few men do."

Moiraine nodded as if to herself. "A trait known to belong among Warders and Blademasters."

"Exactly," he smirked as he opened a small gate in front of the fenced-off stairwell that led down into the lower recesses. He passed through and Moiraine followed promptly behind him.

The moment she passed, though, she felt a sudden and complete disorientation.

What was she doing there? Where was she going? Where is 'here'? There was nothing here that interested her! There are far more important things to do than to linger here.

She promptly turned to leave, feeling angry at herself for dallying about, until she felt someone taking her hand. Just like that, sanity returned to her in a nauseating rush.

"Ugh!" she gasped as she turned to Rand wide-eyed. "What had just happened?! What was that thing?"

"The first safety measure against unwanted people," he said. "It's a very complex weave that makes you forget why you came here. I'm immune to it, and it transferred to you when I touched you. Now, follow me, and don't let go of my hand until I tell you to."

Moiraine couldn't see any weaves around her. It must have been either a _saidin_ weave, or a weaving technique beyond her knowledge. Despite the impression she felt, she threaded lightly after Rand, still wary of any unpleasant shifts of focus.

He led her down the spiraling staircase. The staircase itself was white, but everything around it was coated in oppressive darkness.

"Do you see this darkness, Moiriane?" he asked.

"Yes," she nodded, and shivered. "It feels so… unnatural."

"That's because it is. If you were to let go of my hand, you would feel as if some kind of incredible weight was pressing down on you. With every step we'd go lower, the worse it would get, up until the point that it gives birth to hallucinations. So, don't let go, you hear?"

Her response was a tightening of her hand on his.

They took the final step, and just as she did that, all of the darkness disappeared as if waved off, and she found herself in an underground hall supported by pillars, and illuminated with One Power-made lights.

"You can let go now," Rand said, and she carefully did so, and then looked around.

The chamber was filled with many shelves and desks, but more than half were empty. She could see immediately, though, that the shelves and desks were carefully arranged and categorized. She recognized the numerous objects of Power for what they were, but there was more. There were scrolls and books that seemed to be under various states of decay – or even more interestingly, under various states of Power-induced restoration!

There were other items, as well – non-Power artifacts of an Age long gone: an odd-looking armor in bad shape, some strange gear, items of metal and glass that looked incredibly complex in their mechanical nature, and few that looked so alien in appearance that there simply was no analogue in this Age to what she could associate them with. Yet, one thing was common to them all.

Other than the objects of Power, the items were old to the point of decay.

"Come," Rand said, as he led the way to a small stand on which an object of Power stood. It had a shape of a metallic arch, silvery-blue in color, its arching path branching into spiked ends at a couple of places that made it resemble like some antlers or such. Despite the sloping shape of the arch, the item itself was of quite angular edges, yet it had a certain mystique quality about it.

Rand picked it up in both his hands and showed it to her.

"This is _Psyatha_ _ter'angreal_. Have you ever seen reading glasses, or reading lenses?"

"Of course," she said. "Such are used in Cairhien among scribes."

"Good. This one is worn just like that. Here…"

He placed the _ter'angreal_ careflully on her head, like he would a pair of glasses. The moment he removed his hands from the rim, the _ter'angreal_ instantly reshaped to fit the size of her head, and tightened comfortably against her skin.

The _ter'angreal_ went from behind her ears, bending across her temples, from where a pair of spike-like branches molded across her upper cheek bones, while the upper frame went across her brow, and joined in a triangular shape at the center of it.

The moment it was there, she felt clarity of thought like never before.

"How do I remove it?" She asked, cautious of this new artifact.

"Just like you would normal glasses," he responded, to what she nodded, and looked to the side with a bewildered, but focused look.

"I feel strange," she stated.

"You should," he responded seriously. "The _Psyatha_ amplifies a person's ability to understand, absorb, and catalog new knowledge in her brain."

"That must be the clarity that I feel," she stated as she looked around, then abruptly: "I feel like I need to do something. Anything!"

"Good," he said. "That means it works. _Psyatha_ makes you crave for knowledge, crave to process things and solve problems. It is the most dangerous _ter'angreal_ we have."

"I understand why," she said. "It's because a person can be tricked into overusing it, isn't it?"

She had discerned the reason instantly, her mind starting to work faster and faster under _ter'angreal_ influence.

"What are the dangers to this?" she asked then.

"After you remove it, you feel an opposite effect for roughly the same amount of time," he stated. "Clarity of mind becomes dullness, coherence of thoughts becomes distraction. Wear it too long, and random side effects will start to settle in for prolonged periods. Ultimately, _Psyatha_ can cause a complete mental breakdown if used unwisely. That is why you must be close to Nynaeve when you wear it. She will know if something happens that shouldn't, and help you if needed."

"What is the proper use, then?" she asked, noticing that the speed of her speech was increasing, becoming more precise, more concise.

"Four hours a day, five at the maximum," he said. "The hours are to be those final hours of your daily cycle, right before your regular nighttime sleep."

"I can understand that," she said. "Mind relaxes in the sleep, and allows for regeneration which in turn –"

"Moiraine, focus on me, now!" he practically ordered, noticing that her mind was starting to drift with enormous amounts of ideas that it was starting to produce on its own.

Moiraine promptly closed her eyes, sucking in air and taking a deep breath. When she opened them again, she seemed to have re-focused again. She looked up at him intently.

"This is a dangerous tool," she stated, her speech returned to normal levels under her own willpower. "I'd prefer not to wear it."

"I'd prefer that too," he said, his voice low, sounding grim. "But we don't have the luxury of time. You need to learn things, and I doubt we have even as much as two weeks' time."

"What is supposed to happen at the end of this uncertain timeframe?" she asked discerningly.

"Something nasty; and let's leave it at that for the moment."

She nodded after a moment. "Very well."

She then looked down with a frown, her eyes intently focused into the distance. She lifted her right hand, and pointed to the side, without looking at where she was pointing.

"You will tell me what is over there, though, because it's nagging the living ash out of me," she stated.

Rand was silent for a moment. "How do you know that there's anything there?"

"The clarity that this _ter'angreal_ gives me is strangely lacking when I look or focus on that area over there."

Rand had to smile.

"Walk with me," he said.

She followed him into an area that was strangely lacking in anything that she could see, or even notice at all. It was like walking through molasses that dulled the perception. The only thing she could notice for sure was Rand, lifting his hand toward… wall?

The wall seemed to shift, open like a door, and she followed him into… another chamber? Is it? Suddenly, her perception seemed to return, and she saw it.

The sensation engulfed her like an energizing wave that surged all the way from her toes, through her entire spine, and struck her brain like a torrent of power.

Her face lit up in the greatest smile she could remember having, her eyes watered, and her entire being was filled with restlessness like no other in her entire life.

She took an involuntary gasp, clenching her fists as if she was preparing for a fight, and reveled in it.

"Wha… what is that?" she managed as her eyes wandered across the large white object of Power that stood like a stone resemblance of a wide-branching tree.

"The _Lavanth_," Rand responded with feral intensity; a sign that he too was very much under the influence. "It is a _ter'angreal_ that you were so interested about, earlier. It is the thing that gives the motivation and the desire for action to the people of Manetheren. There are two of its smaller siblings – one in Watch Hill, and another at Deven."

Moiraine was taking note of every single one of his words, yet there was no way that she could move her eyes from the wondrous _ter'angreal_.

"How…?" she couldn't finish her question, as she was breathing heavily, yet Rand knew what she was asking.

"It was hard to make these _ter'agreal_, true," he said. "There is one woman among us who has the talent, the feel for the objects of Power. I can make them, yes, but in my case it is because of hard training; something like that is not enough for something this grand. Sometimes, you simply need your _soul_ to be in the right place for the specific job. So, we made an extended circle, with me a part of it, among others, and Mardi at the lead, with her using both _saidar_ and _saidin_. That is the only reason she managed to make the objects. After _Lavanth_ was made, she had to spend three weeks recuperating."

"I never…" Moiraine spoke breathlessly, barely able to make a coherent word, despite the presence of _Psyatha_ on her head. "I mean… I always knew that _saidar_ and _saidin_ together could… yet, _this_!"

Rand growled, taking her by the shoulders and led her out, letting the passage close behind them.

He sighed in relief, then spoke:

"Proximity to _Lavanth_ raises ones adrenaline. That's why it is kept in special chamber. Are you alright?"

Moiraine had lowered her gaze, and closed her eyes, clearing her mind of the drifting emotions.

"Yes, I'm fine," she said at last. She looked up at him with strange sense of reverence. "Thank you, Rand, for showing me this." She took a few more deep breaths before speaking again. "I can only hope that one day the _Haan_ will teach the White Tower how to make _ter'angreal_."

"Oh, I am hoping for much more than that, Moiraine," he retorted. "I'm hoping that _you_ will be the one to pass the knowledge on to the ones that are worthy. That is why I want you here."

She looked at him strangely.

"It is in my duty to spread the knowledge to everyone that I can, Rand," she countered. "Surely you understand that."

"I understand what you want to say," he said. "But that is the wrong way. Your duty, and my duty, and every teacher's duty is to spread the knowledge to the ones that _want_ to learn FIRST, and only then to try to dispense it to everyone else. You cannot make a mule go where it doesn't want to go, Moiraine, and there are many people who do not want to go down the path of enlightenment. That is one of those cruel truths that you will have to endure. If in one place you find that all the people want to learn, then you must sweat blood in order to pass it onto all of them, because that much is your duty. If, however, at another place nobody wants to learn, then you must cut that place off, and suffer the pain. It will hurt you more than it will hurt them – and do you know why? – It is because you know what they are losing. They don't.

"How can I justify just leaving those people there, in ignorance and nescience, you wonder? It is a simple, yet cruel fact: because even if you spend your whole life dispensing wisdom only to the people who do want to learn, you are still just a frail human, who will live only for so many years, and will never truly manage to spread the knowledge to all of those that crave it. Yes, Moiraine; there will be the ones who deserve the knowledge, but will not manage to grasp it. And that is the stigma that will follow you forever, and which you will have to overcome. That is why you must do the division."

There was a long stretch of silence among them. Rand could see it in her eyes, in her very _Psyatha_-boosted mind, that she was taking all of this to heart. And that it pained her; it pained her because she realized somewhere deep that what he spoke was the truth.

"Who are we to choose something that is only Creator's to decide?" she asked in a near whisper as she shook her head.

"Vessels," he said. "We are vessels that he made us into. All we can do is watch, be vigilant, do what we feel is right, and hope. If we err, then we err, and there is no point in crying; only learning by example. But this we must do. And if you feel yourself strong, then we _will_ do."

She took one last deep breath, before her eyes focused on him with new determination.

"When do I begin?"

He chuckled. "You have already begun, my friend. Now, we just take it up a notch. I'll take you to Nynaeve now, and leave you with her to expand on your skills over the next few days. Meanwhile, you will be welcome to join Mat, Perrin and me, whenever you feel like it. Don't worry; you'll know how to find us wherever you are."

Moiraine smiled then.

"Men," she said. "Always assuming us women need them, and want to paw all over them."

Rand laughed heartily, the sound echoing through the hall.

"There you go!" he said. "You're starting to act like a Manetheren woman! Shall we?"

Moiraine nodded, and followed him up to the South Wing main hall. As they walked up the stairwell, toward the light that came from the South Wing hall, she wondered at what the days would bring. Her mind, now stimulated by _Psyatha_'s effect, was churning out new scenarios of what would come in the following days, forming new ideas, sifting through them, cataloguing and processing it all like a well-organized machine, taking what she liked and throwing away the other. One thing was constantly floating up into her thoughts, though: that whatever her mind was thinking up right now was only a tip of the iceberg. What, in the name of the Light, did she put herself into, she wondered.

A genuine smile appeared on her lips, and then it simply broadened into a full grin. And there was no turning it down.


End file.
